


Still Alive Over Here

by Scarper_Von_Hyde



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Justice League of America (Comics), Justice League of America's Vibe (Comics), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arson, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Detroit (City), Drug Use, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Victim Blaming, M/M, Murder, Other, Racism, References to Justice League of America Issue 233, Repeated Sexual Assault, Repressed Memories, Self-Harm, Vandalism, Vertigo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 66,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarper_Von_Hyde/pseuds/Scarper_Von_Hyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speramus Meliora; Resurget Cineribus: We hope for better things; it shall rise from the ashes.</p><p>When old memories are unearthed, the only options are to move forward, or fall to pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little bit of History

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly one of the most demented head-cannons I have ever had, but what is it that people always say to others, "stick to what you know?"  
> The plot came to me in a dream fueled by alcohol, cold medication, and my allergy meds. At first, I had a hard time with the plot until I decided to face my fears and look back on my life, accepting the good, and the bad, the tragedies and the highlights. My life was a huge inspiration for this, almost everything here holds a deeper meaning to me.  
> I actually apologized to my Rabbi when I was asking if horrific fanfiction was a problem, hint, it is not. As an "artistic expression of oneself," it's fine, he had no idea why some people want to write it, but I feel a little better now.  
> And I know that in 'Comic Book Canon' Cisco is a character of Puerto Rican descent, but the actor Carlos Valdes is American Colombian, so I've been incorporating the use of Colombian slang instead of Puerto Rican slang.

Detroit isn’t the best place to grow up. Sure, there are worse places, god knows how bad that it really could have been. But in a place like Detroit, everyone knows everybody's business. You know who's mamma is a crack whore with three different kids from three different dads. You know who's stripping to put food on the table, and you know who was involved with what gang when it all went sideways last week. Yeah, it's not the worst, but that doesn't make it any better. Hell, even in the heyday of the auto industry, it was still a racist piece of shit town. And after the industry collapsed in the Great Depression, it got bad, then after world War Two it all went to shit, the entire city seemed to turn on itself. Each act of violence was fuelled by money and each act of retribution had to be bigger and badder than the last one was. The seventies saw the rise of cocaine and leading to a full-blown epidemic in the eighties. Then there was Devil’s Night, what used to be for small-scale pranks in the thirties saw out of control fires and other acts of violence and arson in the latest decades. Rising gang activity equals lowered property values equals poverty means the entire city went to fucking shit and there’s no way in hell they’re climbing back out of that hole anytime soon.

Every fucking person in that god forsaken city is controlled by money. That last horrific shootout? Revenge for a drug sale gone south. Someone robbing a convenience store for 400 bucks? 400 can fucking make or break you in Detroit. An entire city divided, growing worse every single day. West Side up against the East Side, both against the SouthWest. Everyone for themselves. And in a place like that, you either join a gang or you die bloody. 

Even as a kid growing up in Harmony Village he knew he had to get in good with a gang if he wanted to live past puberty, so he did what he had to. The Los Lobos had welcomed him into their gang with open arms, well after he went through the ritualistic hazing and initiation. But once he was in he had everything he could want, he just had to move some coke every once in a while or hide some boosted weapons in his home. Maybe steal a car, until he took it all over in one bloody night. He needed respect. And to get respect, you need power. To get power, you need to be top dog, the big man with the bigger gun.

Dante was the only one who knew what he had done, and he definitely didn’t approve, but it hadn’t mattered at the time. What was he going to do? Go to the cops and rat on his little brother? He going to go running off to tell their mom? No, he was just going to have to deal with it. Not that it even mattered anyways. Fuck, nothing mattered back then, he was just a teenager trying to fit in. By fitting in, he meant 'staying alive.' And if fitting in meant killing people, dealing drugs, boosting cars, selling guns? Well then, he was all over it.


	2. Rush Forward, Fall Back

       It had been about two and a half weeks since Zoom had taken Jay. Over three weeks since the Reverse Flash had once again visited and left his mark in the past. And the same amount of time since Cisco had almost died, phased out from this plane of existence. It had been months since Cisco had started to use and understand his powers. Almost every night since he had started to use his powers, his sleep had been plagued by the horrors in his dreams. The events of the other timelines running together like cheap acrylic paints on cardboard, muddling in his mind, showing the past, present, the future and the entire realm of possibility. The cycle of Life, Death, beginning, middle, and end. There was just so much information, so much data and images, all time and space. The entire universe and all the planes of existence pouring through his mind at all hours, triggered by the most random events. Tripping over his own feet, breaking a drinking glass, someone revving their truck’s engine too loud when he was in the cross-walk. Anything could potentially trigger a vision. And the things he saw. Some of it was purely symbolic, a flaming wolf running and howling through a crumbling city, a night sky, a graveyard filled with white figures. And some of it he knew he would never be able to understand. Some of them were amazing, and some of them were simply tragic. But overall there was just so much death.

 

       His own death, Reverbs death, Jay, Killer Frost, Death Storm, Caitlin, Barry, Joe, Iris, Jesse, Harry, and the world. He watched the Earth and the people on it succumb to a drawn out heat death. Planets dying in silence. Entire world's collapsing under their own weight. The death of the sun, and all of the stars. The end of all things. Nightmares of death and desolation haunted him, inescapable and horrific in their content. He watched the deaths of those he called Family, Friend, and Foe. Death haunted his sleep, plagued his dreams, and whispered in the recesses of his mind while he was awake. His days in Detroit, the constant gang violence, leading the Los Lobos, leaving for college, exploring Central City, joining the team at STAR Labs, the Particle Accelerator explosion, the Flash. His entire life on display. Memories of his childhood in Detroit mixed with his new life and the inescapable darkness plagued him even in his waking hours. Time was an illusion and with the glamour stripped away, and the hidden dimension forced into the light, the only thing that was revealed was more shadow. But there were still patches where even his visions couldn’t shed light upon. Empty spaces in his timeline he couldn’t account for. And the possibility of what could exist in those hidden moments was much more terrifying than any death or darkness the universe could show him.

 

       What is nightmare? What is reality? Is there any true distinction between the two? What’s the point of everything? We live just so we can die, and while we're living, we keep ourselves from being truly happy just to save face. There’s no real point to it all.

 

Sleep soon became a thing of the past and a subject to avoid for Cisco, and he did all he could to stave off its hungry and inexhaustible clutches. It had been four days since he had last slept, and each moment free of his visions was a blessing. He tried to stave off sleep and the visions that came with it, the unrelenting visions. Coffee, energy drinks, caffeine supplements, tea and a constant supply of sugary candies became his only forms of sustenance. He hadn’t bought real food for almost an entire week, and there was currently nothing in his fridge but a couple of hard-boiled eggs and half a bottle of sriracha sauce. Not a meal no matter how you slice it. Well, unless you slice the eggs and put sriracha sauce on them, but it wouldn’t be a meal.

 

       Cisco knew it wasn’t any sort of healthy; he might not be a doctor, but he knew where his own limits were but he was well past them now and had been for a while. It had been almost four days since he had last slept properly, and the exhaustion was creeping up on him. But he couldn’t sleep, the terror of his visions was too much to handle. Things had started to get… odd after the third day. Auditory hallucinations, phantom pains, invasive thoughts. On a sudden whim, he had gone to the Time Vault hoping for answers or maybe even just a clue on why Eobard Thawne had such unfathomable hatred for the Flash. Who could possibly feel so much hatred? So much anger just wasn’t human. It was just wrong. When he entered the room, crossed the threshold of the Time Vault, it was dark, the white walls reflecting the eerie blue light from the Reverse Flash’s suit lurking in its case, and there was no sound at all from Gideon. There hadn’t been since the first time the Reverse Flash had left the current timeline. The silence was unnerving, and Cisco swore that he could hear his own heartbeat, magnified by each passing moment of unnatural calm. The Reverse Flash’s suit stood in its case, awash with a blue light, ominous in the total dark and stiff silence of the Time Vault. Cisco stared into the empty eyes of the cowl, drawn into the darkened sockets like a moth to the flame. Based off his own work. He reached a hand out, touching the familiar work, black and yellow material, so similar to his own design, yet so alien. There was something truly _wrong_ with the design. It was twisted. Evil. Corrupted.

 

       Pain radiated in his hand from where he had touched the suit, tingling and moving up his arm like a living thing, quickly moving to his head and his brain, triggering his first vision since he had last slept four nights ago. No, he didn’t want to-

 

*** _Harrison Wells loomed over him, wheelchair cast aside and he leered maniacally, licking his lips and baring his teeth. "Well now, would you look at that? They always remember you in the future for your power.” Wells leaned forwards, stroking his hand down Cisco's cheek, jerking his jaw forward. "They remember your power and  your intelligence," he lunged forward and harshly kissed Cisco, biting his lower lip. "They never remember your beauty or your grace."_

 

_Cisco tried to force Wells away, but he couldn’t move! Whatever Wells had done to him, he couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t speak. He felt Wells' hands move back from his jaw to tangle in his hair. "So very pretty, and just for me." Wells suddenly moved with impossible speed, throwing Cisco against the desk, and pressing himself against his back. "You look so good like this, too bad you won’t remember any of this, but I will. I’ll remember enough for the both of us."_

 

_Cisco heard Wells unbuckle his belt, then felt his own jeans roughly yanked down around his ankles, exposing him to the cool air of the office. Wells stroked his hand down Cisco's back, the other once again tangled in his hair, pressing his face to the desktop. The hand on his back slid lower, caressing his backside, then disappearing again. "Hmmm, for so long I've wanted this, ever since I saw you, I knew. I knew that Vibe would one day be mine. That he would be my pet. And now here you are, mine for the  taking." Wells kept up a steady litany of graphic descriptions of the sexual thoughts he held towards Cisco, and all the times he had touched himself thinking of him. "Such a good boy," he whispered, moving behind him._

 

_The hand that had disappeared was back, slicked with cold lube. A strained whimper snuck from Cisco's throat, and he involuntarily twitched at the first press of Wells' finger._

 

_"Now, now, we can’t have you making a sound." He pulled back and untied the bandana that had been around Cisco's neck, and shoved it into his mouth. "There, now isn't that much better?" Cisco felt tears prickle in his eyes. Why? What had he done to deserve this? The hand was back, and a small voice in the back of Cisco's mind whispered 'at least he's using lube.' All rational thought fled his mind when the first finger pushed forward, breaching him with much more gentleness than he had expected. Wells just kept talking, praise, insults, random thoughts, whatever he thought of, it was raggedly being whispered into Cisco's ear._

 

 _A second finger joined the first, thrusting and stretching Cisco roughly. Wells didn’t want Cisco to enjoy this; he only wanted him to know that he was the one in control. Once Wells thought Cisco was ready, he pulled back his fingers, and began to press forward_ -***

 

       Cisco forced himself out of the Vibe and ran from the Time Vault, into the center of the Cortex, unable to reach a garbage can before spewing vomit across the tiled floor. What he had just seen… was that another Earth? Just one possibility out of the rest? Or could it have been his own past, erased from his own mind by Thawne? All he knew was that he had to get out, had to get away from STAR Labs, and had to forget what he had seen as soon as he could. Another bout of vomit forced him to his knees; he was disgusted, by himself and what he had seen. Shakily, he got to his feet and began to walk home, ignoring everything on his path. People, cars, puddles, animals. Nothing registered to him; his mind kept playing back what he had witnessed. What he had seen happen to himself. The thought that this was somehow his fault came to him. No. This wasn’t his fault, was it? He didn’t know, didn’t remember. Time wasn’t matching up. Maybe it was his fault... No, the blame was not on him, but on Thawne. Thawne had r-

 

_'No, don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Just don’t think.'_

 

       The phrase became a mantra, the voice in his head soothing his thoughts, keeping him from thinking about what had happened. Maybe he could just pretend that he hadn't been… _‘Don’t think about it.’_ He couldn’t even think of the word without wanting to vomit again. _‘Just don’t think about it Cisco.’_ He stumbled a little on his walk. Stairs. He had somehow reached his apartment building already. He kept repeating his mantra as he unlocked the door. Repeated it as he walked inside and relocked the door behind him. Then pushed his sofa up against it, blocking all entry or exit, acting purely on instinct. He had to keep the world at bay, couldn’t let anyone in. He unsteadily made his way to the bathroom, where he avoided looking into the mirror for fear of what he might see as his reflection. He didn’t want to see what he had become.

 

 _'Weak.'_ The voice in his mind whispered quietly, _'so weak. You’re just another victim, aren’t you? Thought so. You're better than this. You could have stopped him. You shouldn’t have let this happen. Weak. You’re just weak.'_

 

       Cisco shook his head. "I'm not weak," he whispered hoarsely, the taste of vomit lingering on his tongue, reminding him again of what he had seen. “...not weak...” He dry heaved into the sink, stomach lacking anything to expel. Leaning forward, he gripped the edges of the sink tightly, knuckles turning white. Cisco felt disgusted, with himself more than anything else, he felt dirty and used.

 

       He carefully undressed, and hesitantly stepped into the shower, letting the scalding hot water cascade over him. For hours he stayed under the steady stream of water, scrubbing himself until the water ran pink, tinged with his blood. He stayed until the water ran cold, then hot, then cold once more. He just couldn’t get the feel of Thawne's hands off of him, pawing at him…. it was definitely a memory, he just knew it, he could feel that it was the truth. His skin burned with the excessive cleaning, but he kept at it. He would have stayed for longer had he not slumped over and almost passed out from exhaustion. Turning the water off, he stepped out, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

 

       Cisco stared at his reflection and tapped sharply on the glass, unsure if what he was seeing was the truth. Did he really look like this? He looked ghastly. Dark bags circled his eyes, his skin was sallow and drawn; he had lost weight, enough to begin to hollow out his cheeks. He looked like a victim of a terrible tragedy. He was a victim of a- _‘don’t think about it, just don’t think.’_ His eyes burned with shame and unshed tears, and the fear he had felt transmuted to a white hot burning rage. Cisco gritted his teeth and smashed his bare fist through the mirror, shattering glass throughout the small bathroom, and embedding shards in his knuckles and slashed through his forearm. “I’m not weak...” he muttered as the glass settled on the floor and he finally felt the pain in his arm as the shock of what he had done faded. A flash of relief surged through his system at the pain. His eyes wide, his hands moved methodically, grabbing a fresh towel, a pair of tweezers, medical tape and gauze. Muscle memory from his days in Los Lobos guided him through the process of removing the glass and cleaning the wound. Once his hand and arm were cleaned and wrapped, Cisco stepped over the glass, exited the bathroom and fell directly onto his bed, sliding under his covers and falling into a deep sleep.

 

       Tomorrow. He would deal with all of this once tomorrow came.

 

*** _Fear. All Cisco felt was fear. Wells had invited him into his office for a discussion over lunch and now… now Cisco tried not to think about what was happening. He didn't want to think about what Wells was doing to him. Why_ -***

 

       Cisco woke, drenched in sweat from his fitful sleep, and stared blankly at the ceiling not daring to close his eyes. _'Nightmare? Or memory?'_   He questioned himself, not actually wanting to know the answer to that question. He knew that he could not go back to STAR Labs, not today. Couldn’t look anyone in the eyes and let them see his weakness, let them see what he had become. _‘You’re weak.’_ No, he can't do it. He had to stay away from them, had to deal with this on his own. Just like in Detroit, he can’t depend on anyone. Can't let them in. Can't trust them.

 

       He sat up under the covers and looked down at his injured hand. There was definitely pain there still, but it was bearable at the least. Pain was nothing new to Cisco, his time with The Los Lobos had made sure of that. And when he was their leader, he had made sure that others were as accustomed to it as he was. Initiates quickly became street-wise and fight-ready once he was done with them. Why had he ever left?

 

       Memories of his time in Detroit flooded through his mind. Back then he was untouchable. He had been feared. He had been ruthless, enemies bodies mangled beyond recognition, sent back in pieces to their leaders. He used to be strong. Now he was… his thoughts whirled uselessly. He didn’t know what he was anymore. If he was no longer  _the_ Francisco 'Paco' Ramon, head of the Los Lobos, scourge of the streets of Harmony Village, enemy, and archrival of The Almighty Vice Lord Nation, who was he? Just some nerd hiding while crimes were committed in the dark corners of the city? Skulking in the shadows of the lab while The Flash did his 'hero work' in the light of day, fighting against the Rogues and the criminals of the city? No. That’s not all he wanted to be. Not anymore. He’d left his life of criminal activity behind to try and better himself with higher education, but look where that had gotten him. He’d been... _‘Just don’t think about it.’_

 

       He snapped back the covers and searched his closet for a certain box. A dirty old cardboard box marked 'Do not touch.' An old box full of bloodstained leather, denim, and metal. The latest move had been quick, and he hadn’t had a chance to unpack all of his stuff. He rummaged around in the closet some more. There it was, hidden in the back behind a broken skateboard and an exploded chemistry experiment. Cisco looked down at the carefully folded camouflage pants, leather jacket and prototype bullet proof vest and assorted weapons holsters. The combat boots, red t-shirt, the tactical gloves… and the blood-stained bandana. It had started off as a brick red and was now the color of old rust, yet it was still soft to the touch, and its light scent not telling of its dark and bloody past. There was still more in the box. You don’t become a gang leader on looks alone. No, you become a leader with superior firepower, the more illegal and the more deadly, the better.

 

       Two 'conventional' weapons lay in the bottom of the box. A Colt M1911 .45 ACP and a sawed-off .12 gauge double barreled shotgun. Assorted knives, some canisters of bear mace, couple half empty cans of spray paint. No, these wouldn’t do for what he had in mind. You can’t use gang scare tactics with the criminal element here in Central; they just won’t learn from it. Cisco sighed heavily. He's not a hero; he really shouldn’t even try.

 

       He hefted himself to his feet and stumbled into his kitchen, and grabbed a broom and dustpan. Might as well clean up that mess in the bathroom. His mind wandered as he swept the glass off the floor, and his attention fell on a large, bloody, shard of mirror in the bowl of the sink. Almost five inches long on the longest edge, the triangular piece looked like it was from the centre of the mirror. Jagged edges on two sides, but the hypotenuse was perfectly straight, razor sharp, and covered in dried blood,   _'That one must be what cut my arm.'_ He looked at it and gingerly picked it up. _'Maybe….'_ He raised the shard and placed the sharp edge against his arm, parallel to the original gash, pressing lightly on the already bloodied skin. _'Maybe just once.'_

 

       The sharp glass pressed into his skin, and he methodically dragged it across, gritting his teeth at the feel of the glass parting his flesh. There it was again, relief in the form of hot, sharp, pain. Blood dribbled down his arm into the sink, smearing red across the white porcelain. Cisco huffed out a shaky breath, and he leaned heavily against the sink. He hadn't expected to actually find some sort of comfort within the pain. He also hadn’t expected to want to feel the pain once more. He bit down on his lip as once again he dragged the shard across his arm, reveling in the calming of his mind and the rush of adrenaline. Twice more he slashed his own skin, and he watched as bright red blood welled to the surface, and slid down his arm, dripping into the sink and onto the floor. Carefully, he washed his newest wounds and bandaged them as well. This wasn’t a proper coping mechanism, he knows that, but it just made him _feel_ something. It didn’t matter what he felt, just that he felt anything at all. He just needed to feel anything other than the disgust and hatred that had been consuming him ever since he had seen what he had seen. Ever since he had seen _that_. Cisco dumped the glass into the garbage and stumbled to his kitchen again. He hadn't eaten in days, and he didn’t think he could stand to eat anything right now. Stress and adrenaline had killed his appetite, so more coffee it would have to be.

 

       Cisco set up the pot of coffee; routine movements calmed his ragged nerves, and Cisco checked his phone as the fresh pot of coffee brewed. Routine was something he could always fall back on, a tiny comfort he had control over, no matter what happened.

 

_0 texts. 0 calls. 0 emails._

 

       Seriously? Not even a message about the vomit? No questions about the open time vault? No 'Good morning Cisco, where are you' no 'we're worried about you Cisco'? Not even a message from Harry threatening to take over his lab if he didn’t come back? Seriously? The voice in the back of his mind piped up, his own doubts echoes in its statement. _‘They never really did care, did they?’_

 

       He poured himself a cup of coffee and stirred in a little bit of sugar. Too bad there was no cream. Cisco sipped at the scalding liquid, not feeling the heat, and he contemplated his choices. _'Skip work, and face questioning later about everything. Or just go in and have to hope they don’t know. Hope that they can't see.... No thank you, that sounds terrible, I'd rather chance later questioning,'_ Cisco mused, slowly finishing off his coffee and pouring himself a second cup, this time foregoing the sugar and drinking it black.

 

_'Hiding from the world seems to be the best of the options, however, hiding and drinking each and every bottle of alcohol in my kitchen seems to be even better.'_

  
       Cisco dropped the now empty mug in his sink and rummaged in the cabinets for the bottle of tequila Dante had given him a month ago. He twisted off the top and took a swig from the bottle, no need for a glass. Cisco frowned a little at the taste, it wasn’t the best quality, but there was no need for a chaser. He took another deep drink, if there was ever an occasion for drinking away your sorrows and memories, this was it.


	3. Be Free but Don't Let Them See

       Hours later and still half drunk, Cisco found himself wandering through the city, bathing in the eerie light of the setting sun and dressed in the clothes of his past life. With every step he took, he heard the * _creak_ * of well-worn leather and the jingling of metal on metal. Each breath he took was hot beneath the cloth of the bandana, and the Vibe goggles kept the biting wind out of his eyes. He swung the baseball bat in his hand, and felt the gentle * _thud_ * of the loaded and racked shotgun on his back with his every step. The bandana over his face blocked out the scent of the city, and the Vibe goggles blocked the vibrancy. His world was reduced to shades of dull grey and the sounds of the cities awakening criminal realm. In the light of day, you would never see the city's sordid affairs, yet the setting of the sun thrust the slime and scum of the streets into the full view of anyone who cared to look for it. Not that anyone ever willingly looks for the pain in the eyes of others, never willingly looks into the darkness of another's life when they can avoid it. God, people are the worst of all the species, only humans decide something is immoral then does it repeatedly. Only humanity would let such atrocities happen in the night and then heap the blame upon the victims. _‘But it was my faul- Don’t think about it. I should have- Don’t fucking think about it.’_

       Cisco grimaced and shook himself out of his dark thoughts, he watched the few people on the streets scurry to cross instead of walking past him. Watched as the pushers lurked in alleys and the workers of the night stood on the corners, bare skin, latex, fishnets, and leather, leaning on rusty signposts and cold walls, shivering in the brisk city air. _'Ain't no rest for the wicked,'_ he mused, watching people scurry from one patch of light to the next, so afraid of the darkness all around them, yet so open to the darkness within themselves. He slung his baseball bat into the pouch on his back next to the shotgun and continued walking out towards the city limits. He thought back on what he used to be, drunken haze making everything in his memories so much more intense. Damn, drinking that much might have been a mistake, not that he would ever admit it. Cisco stumbled a little as he walked, it had been a long while since he had last drank tequila. Once outside of the city’s edge, Cisco turned down the next road towards-

       Wells' house. Daunting, dark and ridiculously modernistic, all smooth lines and crisp edges. It was an insane architect's cocaine-fuelled nightmare, an Art Deco monstrosity, it was largely sculpted metal and wide panels of glass. The landscaping and the small garden was completely overgrown and there was still broken glass on the ground from the attack by Pied Piper.

       Cisco pushed the door open gently. Water damage on the floors and walls and mud was tracked throughout the entirety of the flooring. No possessions remained, and the wide empty space seemed ominous in the soft, red, tinges of the twilight. Maybe the house would have been considered beautiful once, and even in its state of destruction it had a quiet air of dignity and poise, but to Cisco it was only a reminder of what Thawne had done. Acting on pure instinct, he drew his shotgun and blasted a hole through the nearest wall with a noisy blast. Again he shot through the wood paneling of the walls, reloaded, and shot twice more, reveling in the deep noise rumbling through the abandoned building. He holstered the shotgun and swapped it out for the baseball bat, which he immediately swung through the first window he came upon. More glass rained down upon the dirty floor, and he ground it into the hardwood with each step he took. Window after window was subject to the wild assault, and cold wind rushed through the new gaps, raising the dust on the floor into forlorn wisps. Walls were destroyed, windows shattered, and Cisco stood panting in the epicenter of his wanton destruction, taking in the damage. Dust swirled around his ankles, wood and plaster shards showered down from the ceiling and walls, clinging to the leather of his jacket.

 _'Now for the final touch,'_ Cisco thought, pulling a can of spray paint from the holster on his thigh. He quickly exited the house, high on adrenaline, and sprayed the words _'monster,'_   _'_ _liar,_ ' ' _traitor,_ ' _'m_ _urderer,_ ' and, his hands shaking as he wrote the final verdict, _'_ _rapist._ '

       The rest of the night passed in a blur of flying fists and speeding bullets, anger and adrenaline, light and pain. After he had crawled back to his apartment long after the dawn, the next thing he knew with any certainty, Cisco was waking up with a certain satisfaction weighing on his mind, soothing his constant fears and weaknesses. He felt as if he was high, but Cisco didn’t remember doing any drugs, not that it really mattered. A familiar ache rested in his knuckles and shoulders, and the cuts on his arm throbbed in tandem with his heart beat. The pain was welcome, and Cisco bounded out of his bed with an energy he hadn't felt in weeks. Hell, he hadn’t felt so good for months. He hadn't felt since he found out that he was a Metahuman. He changed out from his leathers, and into a shirt that said "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate," a dark flannel, jeans and a pair of ratty old Converse. The outfit was both unassuming and non-threatening. He grabbed his bag and was out the door.

       The walk to work passed quickly, his brisk pace made it more of a jog, and it seemed to take almost no time out of his schedule. His stop at Jitters supplied him with a double-caff espresso, just enough of a boost to keep him going all day. It was completely necessary caffeine. Cisco took a long sip of his coffee and looked up. STAR Labs stood before him, and Cisco felt a knot tighten in his stomach, his good mood starting to dissipate like fog on a warm day. _'I can do this, just get through this day. Don't let them know, don't let them see.'_ He took a deep breath and strode through the door and into the Cortex.

       "Hey Caitlin, hi Barry," Cisco greeted the duo, false cheer in his voice, and he set his bag and mocha on the desk and flopped into his chair heavily.  _"You can do this, just get through the day."_

       "Hey Cisco," Caitlin chirped, her own coffee sitting in front of her. "Have you watched the news today? It’s completely insane!"

       Barry looked up from his phone again, "yeah, everyone at the station is freaking out about it. We should get Harry and Jesse in here, show you all at once."

       "What is it?" Cisco was a little worried, was it something from last night? He knew he wasn't a hero, he was just a punk kid from the slums of Detroit, and he really didn’t need any kind of publicity. This wasn't his territory, but what he had done needed to be acted out. The Flash did his work in the light of day, but what Cisco had done needed to be done in the dark.

       Caitlin brought up a video on the main screen. "They have footage of Wells' house, somebody completely trashed the place." Cisco flinched at the reminder of what he had done while drunk, he felt nothing but an intense anxiety of discovery, and the tension roiled in his stomach, souring the flat mood of apathy into something dark and acidic.

       Jesse and Harry walked into the Cortex, immediately turning their attention to the active screen. Cisco couldn’t look in their direction, he felt the stinging feeling of shame prickling behind his eyes. _‘This was a bad idea, it’s too much to handle.’_ Cisco flinched as Harry walked past him and he hoped that nobody noticed. He felt sick, disgusted both from the resurfacing memory and with himself.

       "What's this?" Harry asked, leaning against the nearest table. "Yeah," Jesse added, "what's going on?"

       Barry looked up and away from his phone for a moment, "play it, Caitlin."

_The video began, panning over Wells' houses interior, showing the absolute destruction of the walls and floor. Glass and wood covered every surface, and the walls were cratered with bullet marks, revealing the insulation and the support beams. Plaster was torn from the ceiling, and the wooden floors were torn up. The camera zoomed out from the wreckage, revealing the graphic words marring the exterior. 'Monster' 'Liar' 'Traitor' 'Murderer' and 'Rapist.' The words were repeated time and time again, covering the house in their spread._

_This time, the camera panned to a reporter standing outside the trashed house, microphone in hand. "It is unknown who has committed this act of vandalism, but reports have come in of a man dressed in black doing the same thing to Harrison Wells' gravestone in Central Cemetery. If you have any information, please call the hotline number on the bottom of your screen. Back to you Tom."_

       "Damn!" Barry grimaced, glancing at his watch. "I've got to go to work, but you guys need to watch the rest of the report." Barry zipped out of the Cortex, already late even with his speed.

       Caitlin nodded, "bye Barry,” she said sarcastically to the rush of air that followed the absent speedster. Harry sidled up to her desk and continued the video.

_The aforementioned Tom, the head news anchor presumably, was talking about an anonymously posted video of a thwarted purse thief, which had quickly risen to viral status. The video started, grainy footage of a cell phone and a man in black leather smashed a baseball bat across the jaw of the attempted mugger, then slammed a gloved fist into their stomach. The brutal beating continued, ending with the mugger on the ground, and the clad in black man picking a purse of the ground and handing it to the person behind the camera. 'Who are you?'_

_The vigilante shrugged, his face invisible behind the rust colored bandana, and eyes hidden behind a pair of strangely familiar goggles which glowed with eerie blue light. He turned and walked away, displaying the flaming wolf skull emblazoned across their back. The video cut to black, but not before focusing on the names above and below the skull._

_Paco, and Los Lobos._

       Cisco looked away from the rest of the news report anxiously, trying desperately not to draw attention to himself as the reported talked about the apprehended drug dealers found on street corners. Fuck, he shouldn't have gone out last night, this wasn't Detroit, and violence couldn’t be fixed with more violence. He wasn’t the ‘Scourge of Harmony Village’ anymore, and he didn’t have any backup out there. He didn’t need backup, but he was alone against the scum of the city, and maybe, just maybe, he felt he deserved it. Deserved this as a punishment for what had-- _“...don’t think about it...”_

       Caitlin's voice caught his attention, she was discussing the videos content with Jesse and Harry. Harry said that he believed that what the vigilante did was alright, while Caitlin thought it wasn't. Jesse was just watching the two of them argue and trying not to laugh at how animated Caitlin was getting. Cisco turned back to his computer, _'I didn't know that anyone was filming, just wanted to stop a purse snatcher… ah well.'_ He drank his coffee silently, it had felt good to be doing something he was familiar with, even if it was just for the one night. _'It's not like I can become a true vigilante… can I? Nah, I’m not the Arrow. Nowhere near crazy enough to do that. Just help out people when they need it.'_

       Harry rolled his eyes and watched as Catlin freaked out, and Jesse just laughed as Cisco didn't pay attention or even seem to notice Caitlin waving her hands in front of his face trying to get his attention.

       "-isco. CISCO!" Caitlin was less than a foot away, her hand in his face, and staring straight at him, concern written all over her expression. "Cisco, are you listening to me?!"

       Cisco jumped up, scooting back in his seat, sending the now empty coffee cup flying across the room and his chair rolling backward. "Dios Mio, Caitlin! Are you trying to kill me!?"

       "No, I'm trying to ask your opinion on that psycho from the news!" Caitlin threw her hands up in exasperation. "Were you even listening to a thing I said?"

       "Truth be told? No, no I really wasn't." Cisco leaned back in his chair, trying to calm his breathing. "I was just sitting here, then you almost gave me a damn heart attack."

       Harry smirked, watching their conversation, half listening to Jesse go on about how she wants to find a job in Central, but all of her job experience is from Earth-2. Cisco looked much more startled then he should have been… and he hadn't shown up to the Cortex yesterday. He was usually always here, making a ton of noise and annoying him. Weird that he hadn’t. "Hey Ramon, where were you yesterday," Harry called out, cutting off Caitlin's rant on vigilantism. He watched as Cisco flinched at the sound of his voice and as his face paled, and he stuttered awkwardly through a response. Something wasn’t right.

       "Er, I was sick, didn't feel so great… uh, I just stayed at home all day." Cisco looked as if he was about to run off  and never come back, _'he hasn't been looking very healthy lately,'_  Harry mused.  ' _Looked way too stressed, and a bit panicked.'_ There was definitely something wrong with Cisco.

       "What! You were sick!" Caitlin exclaimed, "why didn't you call?"

       "I didn't want to trouble you, it was just a stomach bug, nothing that I can't handle." Cisco felt as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest. Everyone was looking at him, staring. _'They can see,'_  the little paranoid voice whispered. "I'm just gonna…" Cisco pointed at the closest thing on his work table. Vibe goggles. Crap. Well, better than nothing. _'Maybe they won't notice that they're the same goggles from the video.'_ Cisco turned back to his desk, trying desperately to ignore the feeling of three sets of eyes boring into the back of his head. He felt like he was going to puke.

       Caitlin turned back to Harry and Jesse. "Well that was odd," Jesse commented, only slightly worried about Cisco's odd behavior. It's not as if it's her job to worry, and Earth-1 seems to be pretty stressful to her.

       "Well, he has been under a lot of pressure lately, then when Jay…" Caitlin stuttered to a stop, looking towards the ground, remembering what had happened to the man she had dared to love after so much loss. "He lost a good friend, we all did."

       "I didn't really know him," Jesse said, not daring to say more once she saw the raw emotion in Caitlin's eyes. ' _Damn, he must have meant quite a lot to her,’_ she thought, realizing just how much the people here had given up to save her from Zoom. "But I heard he was a good man." She looked over to her father and realized he hadn't said anything about the topic. "Dad? What did you think of him?"

       "I thought he was an arrogant, small-minded, overly righteous do-gooder with a white knight complex." Harry caught the eyes of the two women he was speaking to. "He was all of those things, but he was a good man." He broke off the eye contact and instead glanced towards Cisco who was rubbing his forearm with a scrunched look of pain on his face. _'Weird, was he injured?'_ "Jesse, will you join me in my lab, I want to show you some research I've been working on." He nodded his head at Caitlin. "Snow."

       Caitlin smiled gently, "you two have fun. I'll be here if you need me." She turned back into her lab and set to work analyzing a blood sample left from King Shark by ARGUS. As sharks have a natural resistance to many diseases and ailments, maybe some of that could be helpful to humanity. Possibilities were virtually endless.

       Cisco sat at his desk, the quiet hum of machinery and computers washing over him. _'That was a close one',_   he thought. _'I need a way to disguise my voice. Just in case I ever go back out there.'_ He set to work on a voice modulator similar to the one that the Arrow uses. Only it wouldn't sound like he was speaking around a mouthful of gravel.

       He carefully soldered the tiny wires and cooled then before he closed up the casing. An undercurrent of white noise and static emanated from the tiny box. In theory, the static and white noise would make it impossible to identify or record his voice in any future video or audio recording. _'I'll call it The Confounder! No interviews or press for **this** vigilante!' _ He shoved the device in his pocket, you know, just in case he ever needed it. Not that he would need it, no, but you know, just in case.

       He idly scratched at the itching cuts on his arm. With every beat of his heart, the cuts throbbed, small hints of pain following in the wake of his heartbeat. Cutting is not any sort of an answer, he knew that, but neither is drinking oneself into a mindless stupor with tequila. _‘Not exactly the poster child for proper mental health, are you?'_ the voice in the back of his mind whispered. He focused on the buzz of the computer and stared absentmindedly at his dark computer screen. _'I should really do something productive,'_ , he thought, but the energy from when he had awoken was drawing his attention away from anything he tried to accomplish.   _'_ _Maybe I could work on something to get rid of my nightmares… maybe a low-level Delta Wave transmitter? Could hook it into the Vibe goggles... Nah, that would never work. Been watching too much Star Trek lately.'_

       Cisco turned back to the Vibe goggles and grabbed pen and paper. Sure, what he had done the night before had been inadvisable, but it had felt good to help people. He needed to get back out there, he needed to help people. When he had heard that girls cry for help… he had to do something, he couldn't just stand there as another person was victimized. Couldn't stand idly by as one more person suffered. He carefully put the goggles on and watched the future violence in the city unfold, writing down times and places as he saw them. College campus, alleyways, nightclubs, homes, more and more places, more and more crime. So much violence, and there was only one answer. More violence. Once the feed of information slowed to a halt, he stood abruptly and stormed out of the Cortex, not noticing the odd look Caitlin fixed on him as he left. He had places to be and violence to fight… With more violence. Definitely a good idea.


	4. Stuck on Repeat

       He’s already drunk. He’s dressed once again in his gang colors and armed to the teeth. He smells like leather, blood, sweat, and fear. Cisco isn’t sure what he’s afraid of the most. Someone finding out what Thawne had done, or him remembering more of it. But it doesn’t matter really; it’s been less than twenty-four hours, and he’s already getting used to the constant fear. The cuts on his arms itch and he scratches at them through the thick, leather jacket. He needs to get into his position.

       It's not even dark yet, and already Cisco had his first conflict to resolve. A college student on her way back to her dorm after a date with a man she thought she had known well. Met at a club get-together, they had a few laughs and exchanged numbers. They had been friends for a few weeks, and he had drugged her drink while she was in the restroom. Cisco heard the stumbling footfalls of someone supporting the weight of another person. 'Bingo,' he thought, preparing to make his move and twirling the baseball bat in his hand. The moment he heard the key in the lock he stepped out of the small alcove he was hiding in, and followed the man and his intended victim inside, closing the door behind them.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing, hmm?"His voice was perfectly disguised by The Confounder, and he watched as the man stepped away from the drugged girl. "Drugging her drink? Not very nice."With every step forward Cisco took, the man took one back until he stumbled against the wall.

       "Who are you?!" The attempted assaulter was panicking, eyes darting around the room seeking out any sort of weapon he could use.

"I'm just a guy who doesn't approve of what scum like you, thinks they have a right to do."  Cisco swung back the bat, preparing for the first hit. "Now, batter up bastard!"He slammed the bat against the man's jaw with a loud ***CRACK***

"STRIKE ONE!" Again he swung the bat, following it with a swift kick in the ribs.

    "STRIKE TWO!" Cisco grabbed the man's collar and slammed him against the wall.

"Need another one?" he asked, hefting the bat, wanting to do it, wanting to cause destruction and chaos. God, he wanted to do it. The man shook his head frantically, signaling his surrender.

"No? Okay then." He quickly rammed his fist hard into the man’s forehead, a strong rabbit-punch rendering him unconscious. A zip-tie was pulled from a pouch on his belt and wrapped around the criminals wrists. He stepped over to the drugged girl and checked her pulse. Steady, but just a bit slow, sluggish almost, but not dangerously so. She'll be fine. Walking back over to the attempted rapist, he took out the man’s cell phone and dialed 911. Once the dispatch picked up he said simply, "send an ambulance," and set the phone on the ground next to the drugged girl.

       Time to go to the next place.

 

       A teenage girl held at knife point in the alley behind one of the dozens of upscale, trendy, coffee shops and boutiques. The man reeked of sweat and alcohol, anonymity the only message he sent with his appearance. Cisco stepped up behind him and pushed the barrel of the shotgun between his shoulder blades.

"You mind stepping away?" Cisco snarled, tightening his grip on the trigger. "I do believe the young lady told you ' _no_.'"

       The man dropped the knife, and tried to spin around to grab the shotgun, only to be met with Ciscos' gloved fist in his face, smashing bone and teeth, blood flying in the air. Cisco leveled the gun at the man’s head. "Don't think I won't do it." He turned to face the teenaged girl. "Call the cops, I'll make sure he doesn't leave." He stared out from behind the goggles, making sure the girl wouldn't see what he had planned, she had seen enough violence for one night. Enough for a lifetime. The moment she was out of sight, Cisco slammed the stock of the sawed-off shotgun against the man’s temple, knocking him out and sending him to the ground in a twitching heap. A zip-tie was pulled from one of the many pouches oh his belt and was cinched tight around the criminals wrists. Lucky for him Cisco didn’t feel like cleaning blood off his goggles. Not yet anyway. Not tonight.

 

Time to move on to the next.

And the next.

And the next.

 

       He drags himself home long after the rising of the sun, body bruised and aching, muscles sore in ways they hadn’t been for so long. Cisco had stopped by the liquor store, cheap whiskey, tequila, rum and vodka carried home in a paper bag. The store clerk had been too scared by the appearance of a leather and blood covered vigilante to even ask if he needed help. He might be in pain, but the city is a little bit safer now. It’s worth his suffering if he can keep people from feeling helpless and afraid. He checks his stock of bullets and shotgun shells, he should have enough to close out the next two weeks.

       When he gets back, he showers until the water runs cold as ice and until his own blood runs down the drain, but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t.

       He doesn’t go in to work in the morning, he just stays home, drinking until it’s time for him to go back out and help people. He’s been awake for so long, only two days, he’s certain he can go for longer. Everything is a strange haze of alcohol and caffeine, nothing really seemed real at this point. The only person he’s talked to lately is the liquor store attendant, and they were too frightened by the blood spatters to be a good conversationalist. No matter, he only needed them to sell him more alcohol, not to be a friend.

       He goes out, he fights, he helps people, he goes back home and drinks until he forgets who and where he is. Drinks until he can’t remember why he started all of this. His clothes all smelled like blood and booze, and every time he leaves his apartment he prepared himself to not make it back alive. Every time he comes back he takes the sharpened edge of a blade to his skin. Bloody bandages cover both of his arms, his problem is quickly getting out of control, he can’t handle it anymore. He wishes he could control himself, wishes he could stop. But he can’t stop, if he stops then he stops feeling. Even if all he feels is pain, he’d rather die than stop feeling again.

    _0 Texts, 0 Missed Calls and 0 E-Mails._

       A new list of times and places. He goes out, comes back, doesn’t sleep, skips work, then he drinks until it all slips away. No one comes looking for him and he’s not sure he wants them to. More and more cuts litter his arms, heavy bags form under his eyes. He loses weight. His entire body aches, a deep ache settling down in his bones. Cisco’s almost certain that if he sleeps now he won’t wake back up. He’s not sure if he even cares.

Repeat.

       Another list, more crossed out places and times. Come back after the sunrise once again, and this time there’s a plastic bag full of primed needles in his pocket, the illicit contents promising sweet silence from the constant noise in his mind. Cisco had stopped and hogtied a Vertigo dealer on the south side of the city, and he’s not sure why he took the drugs with him, he’s not going to use them, he just knew that he needed them. He forgot why he needed them. Later that night he holds the needle tight against his skin and wonders why he doesn’t push it down and sink into the emptiness the drug promises. He longs for nothing more than to forget for a little while. But he can’t. Not yet. And so he drinks more until he’s numb to the world around him. He came so close to killing people, but he managed to hold himself back. He’s not sure if he should.

       He’d been hallucinating lately, seeing things he knew couldn’t be there. Most of it had been innocuous, nothing that couldn’t be ignored. Some of it was too much. There was one thing he never wanted to see and something he couldn’t keep out of his head.

      He’d seen Thawne. He knows he isn’t really there, but every time he sees him he almost runs off in panic. Cisco drinks more whiskey, grimacing at the taste. It’s cheap and gets the job done. The room is hazy, but he would do just about anything to keep him from seeing _him_ again.

    _0 Texts, 0 Missed Calls and 0 E-Mails._

More locations and times. This world is garbage. Tweakers in the back alleys shaking down not-so-innocent citizens to pay for their filthy habits. Methheads and junkies, there’s a new drug lord in town. just some guy. Calls himself Snowflame. Colombian coke dealer getting into the Vertigo business, Cisco has seen what their ‘improved’ product does to people. It’s sickening, empty husks who would do anything just to get high. He needs to find this guy and get him off the streets. Doesn’t even matter if the guy lives through it. Doesn’t quite matter to him if neither of them lives through it.

       Cisco sheds his jacket as he walks through the apartment, dropping the leather into a wet, bloody, pile on the floor. Shotgun and pistol dropped onto the couch, baseball bat on the chair. Fuck it, nobody would notice if he was gone. They don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing. No matter what he does to help, the filth of the criminal class reaches back up with dirty talons and rotten fangs. This city doesn’t care, for every scumbag he takes off the streets there’s four more jumping up to replace them. He needs a break. Anything to forget what this world is really about.

       Vertigo. He needs the sweet promise of emptiness only Vertigo can supply. Cisco rushes into the kitchen and slams open the fridge door, grabbing a double needled syringe. It’s already primed and ready to go. He wraps his upper arm with his  belt and tapped the vein in his elbow once, twice, the vein visible now. Twin needles slip beneath the skin, always so much easier than he could ever expect. There’s a rush of adrenaline at the small twinge of pain, then the surge of endorphins and serotonin as the drug flows through his system. Fuck, it had been so long since he had felt like this. It’s not something you can easily forget. Cisco let himself slide down to the floor and slumped against the counter as he watched the world fade out into a haze of white nothingness. The used needle tumbles out of his hand, hitting the floor and the glass chamber shattering. Cisco doesn’t care about the mess, why should he? He feels…. God, the drug feels so _fuckin good_. He’s still awake, but his mind feels like it’s been shut off. No vibes. No memories floating up out of the blue. It’s so quiet. So serene. It’s like flying, drifting away with pure weightlessness. But he can’t depend on the drug, he knows that. But just once. Just this one time…

    _0 Texts, 0 Missed Calls and 0 E-Mails._

Repeat again, and again, and again, and again...


	5. Hell are You doing here?

       It’s been a few hours now, and he’s almost certain this is the last stop. His list is crumpled up in his pocket; the places crossed out with dirt and blood. Soon he can go back to his booze induced haze and stew in his misery. He can put off sleep for two more nights at the most, and he doesn’t want to know what else he’ll see when he sleeps again. The hallucinations are back, been talking now too. Saying things he never wanted to think of.

       He needs more Vertigo; he can feel his skin crawl and prickle just thinking about the drug. He smells like sweat and blood, been wearing the same clothes for almost seven days straight, but the need for the drug outweighs all other needs. The few remaining needles in the fridge will do just fine, for now, he needs to shake down another dealer soon, but all in due time. Hell, he might even go straight to the source, Snowflame has the best shit in all of Central City. But first, he has some business to attend to.

       Time and time again, Cisco had found himself tracking down rapists, muggers and murderers, and their intended victims. Houses were broken into, businesses were hidden inside, people were followed. He leaves a spraypainted flaming wolf's head at the scene of each attempted attack. A warning? Maybe. Maybe it’s more of a symbol, proof that people in the city are still protected, even if they don’t care. The grey space between the law was where he functioned, hunting down the criminals and preventing them from doing harm by breaking the law himself. Criminals; Vertigo dealers, rapists, muggers, abusers, the scum of the Earth, were left tied and unconscious where they lay in the streets and on the sidewalks and in their places of business and residence. Men and women with cracked ribs and bloody faces, and their victims were all left with the same story of a man dressed in black leather who appeared out of nowhere and disappeared once again into the shadows. When he had started this crusade of violence he hadn’t been sure if it was the right decision, but now it’s something he _needs_ to do. He thrives on the danger, it’s the only thing he has to look forward to anymore, and he’s certain he found something he wouldn’t mind dying while doing.

       The sun was beginning to rise, the pink tinges of the dawn drawing across the horizon. Cisco was crouched behind a dumpster in an alley, listening to the loud techno beats pulse from the dance club exit. The smell of alcohol and rotting garbage filled his every breath, of course, this would the last stop for the dawn. Just perfect. A stereotypical dirty alleyway with fetid, damp air and unfathomable grime. Cisco scowled beneath the bandana and rolled his shoulders. Busting heads for almost eight hours straight was really taking its toll. However, stiff shoulders and bruised knuckles couldn't compare to the feeling of dark satisfaction in his chest. He sighed dramatically and shifted in place. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he checked the time.

_6:15 AM. 0 Texts, 0 Missed Calls and 0 E-Mails._

       Seriously? He didn’t expect anything after so long, but it was still disappointing to know that nobody even thought enough about him to ask what had happened. Almost a week ago he had just stormed out of the Cortex, and nobody thought to ask him where he was in all that time? Did nobody even-

       The sound of technopop suddenly grew louder as the club's back door slammed open, smacking against the alley wall, and two very drunk people stumbled out into the grime. Go time.

      Cisco tightened his grip on the baseball bat. There’s a chance he might not have to intervene tonight. Maybe they won’t try to force themselves on the other. Maybe they’ll make the right decision. Maybe not everyone has the darkness within them. There could still be good in people. He raised himself out of the crouched stance, and stood in the dark, listening to the couple's conversation.

"I dunno, I should get home, I've had a bit too much to drink tonight."

"What, you think I ain't good enough for you?"

"No! It’s not that, I just think that this is a bad idea, I could just give you my number…"

*SMACK!*

"You little fucking tease, you think you can just lead me on like that?!"

       No, it looks like these people are just the same as everyone else. Cisco vaulted over the dumpster, landing behind the pair. "I would let go of the nice young man's arm if I were you," he hissed, hefting the bat.

       The man jumped back, pushing the smaller man back against the alley wall as he did so. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

   "Just a concerned citizen who doesn’t mind doing the dirty work others are scared of." Cisco swung the bat back in preparation to strike. The bat cracked across the attacker's knees, and the crunch of bone was heard. He followed the strike with a quick kick to the ribs, throwing the man back against the wall where he slid to the ground. "Now I'd stay there if I were you."

      The man quickly leaped back to his feet, only to come face to face with the .12 gauge shotgun. "I believe I told you to stay down," Cisco sneered behind the bandana, 'why shouldn't I blow his damn head off? I'd be doing the world a huge favor.'

       "Fuck you, you fucking Spic," the man spat angrily, his back to the wall and blood smeared across his battered face. "Go the fuck back to Mexico."

       Cisco gritted his teeth and grinned like an animal as he fired, his arm jolting back from the kick of the shotgun. The slug went tearing through the man's head, slamming into the brick behind them. The man’s head almost exploded from the force, loudly splattering blood and brain matter across the dirty alley wall. Chips of skull, brain matter and blood splashed back, covering Cisco’s face and chest in the sticky warmth. The boom of the shot echoed throughout the alley, definitely attracting unwanted attention to the crime scene. 

 _"_ I thought I told you to stay down," he said with mocking sarcasm in his tone, and he was vainly attempting to wipe the rapidly cooling blood from his goggles, streaking it across his skin in the process. The muck on the leather rolled down in narrow rivulets, congealing in the stitching and seams. _‘Dammit, I got racist all over me. And seriously? Seriously?! Damn this bigoted city right to Hell.’_ He holstered the shotgun and turned back towards the man’s intended victim. The dark haired young man sat trembling against the wall, face hidden in shadow. An angry red mark was forming on his wrist where he had been grabbed, and a bruise was already visible on his jaw. Cisco cleared his throat softly, not wanting to frighten him any more than he already was. The man looked up, familiar eyes wide behind thick glasses. _'Oh good fucking lord..._ _HARTLEY?!'_

       "You… Did you kill him? Oh my God... he's dead! Oh dear God." Hartley was hyperventilating, pale as a ghost.

“No, not quite.” There was an insane grin on his face behind the bandana, and he knew he looked absolutely maniacal. _‘Probably not the time for jokes.’_

       Hartley looked terrified, his eyes were affixed on the fresh blood smeared across Cisco's goggles and bandana. "You're not going to-to kill…" he trailed off in the middle of his sentence, his face filled with absolute fear.

       Cisco remained silent, shaking his head and hoping that would be enough of an answer.

       "Th-thank you… you saved me," Hartley's' voice came out shaky and dry, "you… wh-who are you?"

       Cisco dropped into a crouch beside Hartley, not caring about the grime on the pavement or the drying blood on his face. "Just someone who cares about the people in this city." He gently laid a hand on Hartley's shoulder and pulled up the bloody Vibe goggles with his free hand. The bandana kept his face hidden, but Cisco knew that Hartley needed someone who could actually be seen to be there for him right now. "Do you have someplace safe to stay Hartley?"

       Hartley shook his head slowly. "How do you know my-?" He blinked in confusion. "No, I don't have anywhere to go." He chewed his lip anxiously. "I- I don't have anywhere to stay right now."

    _'Nowhere to go? Dios, I can't let him stay out on the streets!'_ Frowning behind the bandana, Cisco stood slowly, making sure Hartley kept eye contact. "I know somewhere you can go. I can take you there once you are ready."

       "Thank you," Hartley whispered, "thank you…" His shoulders shook heavily, and he buried his bruised face in his hands. Having just seen a man murdered in front of him… he was more than a little shook up. This wasn’t something he had ever thought he might see. He might have turned to a life of crime after he was fired and when was on the streets, but he could never have prepared himself for witnessing such a violent death first hand.

       Cisco reached into the dead man's pocket, pulled out their phone and walked a few steps away, giving Hartley the time he needed. He dialed the police dispatch on the cracked screen, covering the entire case in blood, and he dropped the phone to the ground. Police would find the body soon enough. Cisco grabbed the can of spray paint out of its holster; he still had a message to send after all.

       When he turned back, he saw Hartley, shoulders shaking, holding his knees tight against his body, his face hidden in shadow. _' I need to help him,'_  the little voice of his mind whispered. _'I need to make sure he stays safe.'_ He had no idea why he needed to help Hartley, but he just felt he needed to.

   "Mr. Rathaway, are you alright?" Cisco asked, once again crouching to Hartley's level.

       Hartley drew in a shuddery breath. "I just can't stop shaking… I was so scared." He buried his face in his knees, "he was going t-to… you saved me." He looked back up at his savior, his eyes full of unshed tears. "I can't thank you enough."

"Just follow me, I can take you someplace safe," he said, teeth clenched tight to keep what he wanted to say at bay. He wanted to tell him the truth about his identity, but he just couldn’t. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe the lack of food, but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell Hartley who he was. Fuck it; even Cisco barely knew who he was anymore.


	6. Wake up and smell the Coffee

       Morning time. Another sleepless night filled with violence and pain, trying to protect those who needed to be protected. And who could forget that moment of misplaced racism? It had been a while since he had last been insulted based on his race. And he wasn’t even insulted correctly! Get your racial stereotypes right before you use them.

       At least there were no nightmares aside from the one he was constantly living in. Arriving home after the rising of the sun had ensured that he wouldn't get any sleep. But that had been almost four hours ago. He had just been staring at the ceiling for almost four hours, still fully dressed, trying to summon up the energy to not close his eyes. The entire night he was hallucinating and he had seen _him_ , but he was still trying to stay awake no matter the cost to his physical and mental health. He didn’t need to see what had happened in the spaces he couldn’t remember. At least this version of Thawne couldn’t actually touch him.

       There was still some dried blood of that racist left on his face, he didn’t even have the motivation to wash the last of it off. At least he had gotten all of the brain matter off of him. Well, maybe not _all_ of it. _Most_ of the brain matter. Well okay, at the least he had gotten _some_ of it off of him. Cisco yawned behind the rust colored bandanna and listened to the faint snores drifting through his door from his living room.

Wait just a fucking second here.

Snoring?

       Fucking hell, he had forgotten that Hartley was asleep on his couch. Well, he would just have to stay in character then, play it by ear, no slip ups. Guess he wouldn’t be going to work again. Whatever, they wouldn’t notice anyways, they hadn’t noticed all week. He pulled the Vibe goggles back over his eyes and removed the voice modulator, switching it off and stuffing it into the cardboard box in his closet, he didn’t believe that he would be found out just from his voice. Besides, voice identification is almost always inaccurate. That and the static feedback was giving him an intense headache. He wasn’t going to worry about Hartley finding out his identity from his belongings, after the latest move they were all still in boxes and shoved in his bedroom and his closet.

       Just had to hope Hartley didn't ask why all the reflective surfaces were either broken or taped over, Didn’t ask why there were illegal drugs in the fridge, didn't ask why there wasn't any sort of real food in the apartment, and didn't ask why the smell of alcohol, blood, and coffee flooded every room. Damn, he just had to hope Hartley didn’t ask any questions at all. Speaking of one of the questions, Cisco reached under his mattress, grabbing his emergency flask and unscrewed the top. The smell of cheap alcohol wafted into his nose and he took a swig, putting the top back in place and shoving the flask into his jacket pocket. Best breakfast he’d had all week. Whiskey for breakfast. Absolutely perfect, the breakfast of champions. Irish champions. _‘Was that racist?’_ he pondered. _‘Well I dunno, maybe just a little bit racist. Hah, "little" bit. Leprechauns. Okay, now that was definitely racist.’_

       He huffed out a derisive laugh at his odd internal monolog and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Coffee. He needed coffee to stay awake. He had only been up for a little over seven days, but he could still feel the warm heaviness of sleep lurking under his skin, threatening to drag him under into the inky depths. He couldn’t submit to it, not now.

       Stumbling, he walked into the kitchen, careful to not wake the sleeping Hartley with his heavy boot steps. Coffee. He needed to keep awake. Cisco set up the ancient twelve cup pot and set to brewing. He mindlessly checked the almost empty fridge, already knowing what he would find. No cream for the coffee then. The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the kitchen, washing over everything in its caffeine-infused glow. Perfection. He poured himself a double cup of the piping hot drink and breathed in its luxurious scent. He pulled his bandana down around his neck and drank his coffee, and he kept a wary eye on Hartley to make sure he was still asleep and not looking at his exposed face. Huh, Hartley slept with his glasses on. Weird. That’s got to be uncomfortable.

       He ran his hand through his hair, it was matted and tangled, and there was definitely more blood in it than he was comfortable with. It didn’t really matter, and he pulled a loose hair tie out of one of his pockets, sweeping his hair into a _very_ messy ponytail.

       Cisco sipped at the coffee, his stomach rumbled fiercely with hunger, protesting the acidic drink. He hadn’t eaten properly in over six days, he was getting close to his limits. But he knew that if he did try to eat anything, it wouldn’t stay down for long. Stress and fear simply weren’t conducive to a proper diet. Besides, the fridge was empty save for a handful of pre-primed Vertigo needles, six bottles of vodka, half a bottle of sriracha sauce and two hardboiled eggs. Not exactly a meal. He tossed back the remaining bit of his coffee, poured himself another mug, and left the blood-stained bandanna loose around his neck. It’s not like anyone in the movies or in comics realizes the identity of the masked antagonist, he just had to hope it works in reality. Then again, nobody in the city seems to have figured out who the Flash really is, so he should be fine.

      Well, time to wake the sleeping Hartley. He poured a second fresh cup of steaming coffee for Hartley and placed it on the table in front of his snoring guest. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about this. Does he just poke him until he wakes up? Make a loud noise? Hope he wakes up on his own? The confidence he felt when he was out every night fizzled into nothingness. What exactly is he supposed to do in this situation? Cisco grabbed the coffee he had poured and walked back into the kitchen, pouring and drinking another cup of the still hot pot of coffee on the counter. Whatever happened in the other room didn’t matter, he just had to stay awake. Even though he wanted to do nothing more than to take the remaining needles of Vertigo, plunge them all into his skin simultaneously and escape into the empty bliss once more, he had to stay awake. He slid down the cabinet and slumped on the dirty floor. There were blood and glass on the tile still.

       Cisco didn’t care. He felt cold, his bones ached with fatigue. Whatever that was left of his spirit felt as if it had been knocked out of place, like an empty pit in his chest. Everything around him felt _wrong_ and he didn’t know if he cared. The freshest cuts on his shoulders throbbed in pain, and the oldest cuts simply ached. Cisco knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer, this life would kill him.

       Fuck it, he didn’t fucking care. Why should he care if nobody else did?

       “Hello? Is anybody there?”

       Sounds like Hartley was awake at last. Cisco listened to the quiet footfalls in the living room and just stayed seated on the floor, too tired to move. Just so damn tired. “In here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and shaky. “There’s fresh coffee on the counter.” As an afterthought, he added, “watch out for the glass.” Cisco’s voice sounded as if he had been gargling gravel for an hour and then swallowed a mix of broken glass and rusty nails. He pulled out his flask and unscrewed the top. Might as well drink.  

       The footsteps move nearer and Hartley stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out from his eyes and carefully stepping over the glass of more than three needles. “The hell happened in here?” Hartley’s voice was rough from sleep, and he almost jumped when he saw Cisco lurking on the floor. “What are you doing down there?”

       Cisco stared blankly from behind the Vibe goggles, everything was far too intense and he was far too lucid. He needed to get drunk. “What’s it to ya?” He drank from his flask, half ignoring the other man in his kitchen.

       Maybe it was because he was drinking but Cisco didn’t notice that the entire kitchen smelled like blood, alcohol, and wet leather. It was a pretty gross combination. However, Hartley definitely noticed, and he grabbed the cup of coffee off the counter and quickly backed back out of the kitchen, leaving Cisco alone to drink himself into a stupor.


	7. Homestyled Cold Comfort

       Hartley stood awkwardly in the living room, listening to the sound of crunching glass each time the leather clad man in the kitchen moved. He had no idea who he was, but he knew he owed him big time. Hartley wasn’t sure how he was supposed to repay him, but he also knew he had to get back on his feet and out of his rescuer's apartment. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, luckily he hadn’t broken it last night. He had just under 20 percent left on his battery, enough to make a few calls. At least he only had to make one.

       He could definitely call one of the Rogues, maybe stay with the Snart’s until he could make it on his own. Could call Mick Rory, but he doesn’t want to spend all of his time with a psycho pyromaniac. At least Mick can cook. Or he could always call one of the damn do-gooders of Team Flash. No, he didn’t want to deal with a lecture from the heroes. Not today. He dialed Captain Cold and nervously waited for him to pick up the phone.

One ring. God damn, his jaw really hurt. So did his shoulder. He was probably more bruised than a two-week old unwanted apple at the bottom of the barrel. And why the hell were there no mirrors in here?

Two rings. At least this coffee isn’t too bad; sure his rescuer may be an insane, violent, drunkard, but the coffee was alright. He wasn’t really sure if that was a sarcastic thought or not.

Three rings. Hartley adjusted his glasses, trying not to panic.

Fou-     _“Hello?”_ Oh, thank Christ.

       “Hey, you there Snart? Are you busy? It’s me, Hartley, I, um, I need some help.” Hartley just now realized how bad he sounded. He sounded like he’d been crying for a few hours straight. But hell, if there was ever an excuse to cry, he had a damn good one. Just thinking about what had happened made him want to cry. He had almost been raped in a back alley, and possibly murdered. If that guy hadn’t rescued him… Hartley didn’t even know his name, a real one or a fake.

 _“What’s wrong Kid? Where are you?”_ Cold sounded panicked, did this mean he was actually worried about him? _“Are you in trouble?”_ There was a jingling of keys in the background and the sound of a car starting.

       “No, I’m fine, but I got into a bit of a, a scuffle last night, and-”

 _“Where are you?”_ Snart was already driving in his car on the main road from the sound of the noise in the background, _“I’ll come get you, kid, just tell me the address.”_

       Hartley rattled off the address, hoping Snart was actually on his way. He didn’t feel like staying here much longer. He said his goodbyes and hung up the phone, settling back down on the uncomfortable small couch. Why was this couch so tiny? Was it some kind of weird joke? And who had a brown suede couch these days? Just so tacky. Was that giant stain from food or from blood? Hartley’s mind was full of questions that were probably better left both unasked and unanswered. He fiddled with the now empty coffee cup, counting the seconds as they passed. God, he really wanted to get out of here, it was just uncomfortable and he needed time to work through everything that had happened last night. Well, technically this morning, but he didn’t care.

       He heard talking from the kitchen; the vigilante was definitely distressed. It sounded like he was carrying on a conversation, and one that was quite emotional.

_“Fuck off Thawne… Don’t say that shit…. Fuck you man; you’ve done too much... You can’t just say it was MY fault, I mean, I’m sure some of it was, but you can’t fucking say that to me!”_

       There was a loud crack of glass, like a coffee mug being thrown onto cheap linoleum flooring.

_“Seriously, you can’t do what you did and get away with it!.... I know you’re dead, but it’s more than that!.... excuse me? EXCUSE ME? The fuck you say to me?... Oh, MY BAD, I how was I to know you were some sort of sick fucking pervert? Sorry I just up and MADE you do it!... fuck this shit man, I need some of my, need my shit man.”_

       There was a crunch of glass, the sound of the fridge door opening, and a few minutes of crunching glass and a loud groan later, there was a sound like one of the velociraptors from the original Jurassic Park. Was he puking in there? Well, either he was puking, or he was trying to fight a dinosaur. One of those was a little less believable than the other, but with everything that had been going on lately, he wouldn’t doubt if dinosaurs, or clones of dinosaurs, were still running around.

       A loud groan floated out of the kitchen, followed by its maker. “Don’t, ugh, don’t even think of going back in there, it’s full of puke.” The leather-clad vigilante was lying face down, talking directly into the floor, blood still on his face and his voice muffled by the grubby carpet. “Like, just fucking full of puke. All over the damn floor. Soooo much puke.” The man laughed into the carpet, and Hartley wasn’t seeing the humor of the situation. “Well, I call it puke but it’s mostly stomach acid, I haven’t eaten anything in days.” He raised up a fist, revealing three unused needles. “At least I still have _these_.” One jacket sleeve was pushed up, and an empty, recently used, syringe was stuck in their arm. In their other hand, they had what looked like a hard-boiled egg, which they promptly dropped on the floor. Yep, definitely an egg.

       Hartley balked at the sight of the needles, both the used and unused. “Is that… is that Vertigo?” He knew what the drug did to people, had heard about all of the deaths in Starling City when it had been ‘perfected’ the first time around. And the new formula was supposedly stronger, and with the amount that he had… it just wasn’t healthy in the slightest.

       “It is Vertigo. ‘m drunk and ‘m high, and ‘m not going to lie to you Hartley,” the drunk man on the floor shrugged awkwardly, “yes it is.”

       “How do you know my name?” Hartley gazed awkwardly at a spot on the floor next to the man's head, “and besides, I don’t even know _your_ name.”

       “Just call me ‘Paco,’ bro.” _‘Paco’_ shrugged, “and as for the knowing your name bit... you obviously know about the whole Metahuman situation, the whole city knows.”

       Hartley was a little surprised, he had no idea that ‘Paco’ was a Meta. He just didn’t give off the right ‘vibe’ per se. “You’re a Metahuman?”

       “Hyup.” Paco turned his head, removing his face from the carpet, pulling his flask out of his pocket and drinking. “Useless as shit powers, I have like, visions and potential for some other shit, but I basically just get headaches and some serious PTSD.” He yawned loudly, then suddenly smacked himself right in the face. “Can’t sleep, gotta stay awake. Seen waaaay too much of my own life for my liking…. _Shut the fuck up Thawne..._ ”

       A loud knock on the door drove ‘Paco’ right to his feet. In seconds, he had his pistol up and safety off.  He pulled the door open only to be greeted by an irate looking Captain Cold with a Cold gun leveled directly in his face.

       Paco kept the pistol aimed at Snart’s head, and calmly asked, “I assume you’re here to pick up Hartley Rathaway? Yes? Good, I've been expecting you.” He gestured into the small apartment and gently kicked the door open wider. “Come right on in Mr. Snart, as you can see, he is still very much alive.” He sounded like he was sarcastic, but neither of the criminals could be sure if he was joking or not.

       “How do you know…” Hartley shook his head; he had no clue what kind of traumatic spiel that would launch off from the vigilante. “Whatever, Hartley, let’s go.”

       Paco looked like he was staring, but he was swaying on his feet, his gun and hand shaking heavily. “lock the door on your way out…” After saying that, he promptly fell flat on his face on the floor, gun still in hand.

       Cold lowered his gun in surprise, “is he… is he dead? Did he OD?”

       Hartley knelt down and placed his fingers on the unconscious man’s wrist, finding a pulse. A wild and far too shallow pulse, but still a pulse nevertheless. “No, he just passed out.”

        Cold looked uncomfortable, and more than a little confused. “Well, what are we supposed to do with him?”

       Hartley shrugged, “I guess we just lock the doors on the way out.” He looked back down at the unconscious man. “Maybe we could put him in his bed?”

        “Good plan, might as well not be an ass.” Snart holstered his cold gun and bent down to lift under the leather clad man’s arms. “You get to lift his feet.”

       Hartley moved into position, lifting and awkwardly shuffling so the two of them could move the other man. “No, I go backward, you walk forwards.” They moved slowly into the small bedroom, stumbling over discarded liquor bottles on the cheap shag carpet. “Now turn,” they turned and rolled the unconscious man onto his bed, and Hartley carefully removed the needle from their arm.

       Snart turned for the door, “come on, let’s get out of here before he wakes up.”

       The other criminal paused, his hand inches away from the goggles the vigilante was wearing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

       Maybe next time.    


	8. Memory of the Forcibly Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's fucked up fam, if you might be triggered by sexual assault, PLEASE do not read this chapter.

       Cisco tossed and turned in his drug induced sleep, lost in memories he would rather never remember. Pieces of time floating up from the depths of his mind, popping like soap bubbles on the surface of his consciousness. Flashes of the past, showing him all the things he had never wanted to know. His mind was bombarded with the truth of what Thawne had done.

_***Wells had asked Cisco to see him in his office after his shift was done, said he wanted to congratulate him on all the work he’s done.***_

       His sleep continued interrupted and Cisco shuddered at the memory as he remembered. The first memory in a long, long, series of them. Another repressed memory unfolded before his mind’s eye.

_***He was forced up against the cold wall inside the particle accelerator, Wells’ hand shoved down his pants and the other wrapped around his throat. “You try to get away or make a sound and I’ll fucking kill you.” Wells lowered the hand from his throat and unzipped his own pants, shoving them down his thighs. “You keep your fucking mouth shut, and maybe I’ll be gentle.” He stepped back a little and forcibly spun Cisco to face the cold, hard, metal. With a surprising amount care, he pushed his victim's pants and boxers down to his ankles, exposing him to the frigid air of the accelerator. Wells caressed Cisco’s bare ass, quietly panting in his ear. He ground up against him, breath coming a little faster._

_“Fuck, if you only knew what I had planned for you.” Wells moved impossibly fast, preparing himself for his intended action. He continued to breathe heavily in Cisco’s ear as he slid a cold, lubed, finger into him, thrusting back and forth. Cisco tried so hard not to make a sound, visibly shaking with the effort._

_Wells moaned quietly into Cisco’s ear, “you’re such a good boy, you better keep quiet.” He shoved another finger in alongside the first, and Cisco felt his eyes well up with hot tears. Wells pulled back his fingers and pushed forward, thrusting into his unwilling victim. He kept one hand on Cisco’s hip, and the other one closed around his throat once more, squeezing with almost enough force to bruise. He continued to thrust, picking up speed and moaning quietly every few seconds until he came suddenly, still deep inside his victim._

_He pulled out and kissed Cisco’s neck with sickening gentleness while whispering, “good boy.”***_

       Memory after memory appeared and disappeared again, information all came flooding through, filling the spaces the moments used to be.

_***The wheelchair lay on its side, wheel spinning from the force of Wells leaping out of it-***_

       Cisco tried to pull himself out of his sleep, but the information just wouldn’t stop, there was so much more than he could have ever thought.

_***Wells, no, no it’s not Wells. It was never Wells, it was always Eobard Thawne. He was just wearing Wells’ face as a mask to hide behind._

_Thawne was like an animal, all heavy hands and hard movements and rapid breathing. He had a knee wedged between Cisco’s legs and he kept a hand on his cheek as he fumbled with his own pants. He whispered wetly into his ear everything he wanted to do to him. “I’m going to take my time with you, make you my filthy little bitch. First I’ll start off slow, so very slow, like I want you to like it. But that’s not why I’m doing this, no, no. I’m doing this for me.” He licked his lips, leering down at his victim. “Then I’ll speed up, use a little more force, making it hurt a little bit, going to make you feel exactly what it is I’m doing.” He sat up, and climbed off the small bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he talked._

_“It really is too bad I only have half an hour left here, but I’m sure I can still get what I need.”_

_Cisco pulled again at the ties on his wrists, they were still tied fast, not shifting an inch no matter how much he struggled against them. The ties on his legs were just as tight and as much as he tried, he couldn’t move. He whimpered pathetically, eyes threatening to overflow with their tears._

_Thawne laughed psychotically at the sight before him, “yes, you go ahead and struggle all you want, it’s just going to be so much better when you try and fight back.” He stalked forward, running his icy cold hands up and down Cisco’s warm body, leaving involuntary shivers in their wake. “You’re just so… so alive! So alive, and so very lovely…” Thawne hummed quietly, a madman’s, off key, broken lullaby.***_

       Cisco jolted out of his sleep, scrambling into the bathroom and vomiting straight onto the blood coated tiles. God, he remembered… he remembered everything. He had thought it had only happened the one time, but now… now he knew the whole truth of it. He’d been raped, and more than once. He just felt so dirty. Cisco felt tears fall from his eyes and he fell to his knees in the middle of the dirty bathroom. He was covered in blood and puke, he smelled like a damn dumpster, and he felt like fucking trash. His shoulders shook heavily, and he swore he could still feel Thawne touching him. God, he felt fucking worthless.

       His stomach turned and he puked again, almost directly onto his knees. Why the fuck should he care? What was the point of it?

       There was still a knife on the floor from the last time he had cut himself. With shaking hands, he picked up the blade, still covered in dried up blood. Cisco continued to cry as he pressed it against his skin and pulled. Blood welled up from the new cut, trickling down his arm and dripping into the puddle of vomit. He cut deep, again and again, watching the blood flow and mix with his tears. He continued to cut long after the tears stopped and until he wasn't sure he could bleed anymore.


	9. My Cup Runneth Over

       He’s covered in vomit.

       Cisco looked around the small bathroom, his eyes blurry. He must have passed back out, probably from almost cutting his arm off and puking every ten minutes. The bloody blade was still in his hand, dried up blood almost stuck to the leather gloves. He pried the knife off of the leather, almost throwing up from the sound of it peeling away. He felt so sick, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with himself next, he was just sitting in the middle of a puke filled bathroom, covered in vomit and blood. Where did he go from here?

       Rock bottom.

       Was there anywhere below this? Can it really get any worse? No, not for him, other people may have it worse, but this was his absolute limit.

       He dropped the knife onto the filthy floor and tried to stand, almost falling into the shower in the process. God, he was just such a wreck.

       Clean.

       Needed to get clean. He just needed to _feel_ clean. All he wanted was to feel clean. Even just for a little while.

       He tripped and fell into the shower, carefully pulling himself up. Even using all of his strength he was still slumped forward, breaths coming in short, panicked, huffs. He could still feel Thawne’s hands all over him.

       The water was turned on to the highest heat setting, and he turned it on, not even bothering to take off his clothes or close the curtain. He leaned heavily against the wall, letting the scalding water cascade over the bloody leather and soak into the sweat stained fabric beneath.The bathwater was already stained with reds and yellows, swirling around the combat boots he was still wearing. Hot water continued to beat down, working the filth out of his hair, running in dirty rivulets down his face. He pulled off his vibe goggles and his bandana, tossing them out into the sink. The water pounding down stung the cuts on his arms with every drop, and he almost wanted to cry from the fresh pain. Cisco pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the shower bar, blood and vomit still dripping from the leather.      

       Hot water continued to pour down, soaking his red t-shirt, plastering it to his skin. The cuts and the scars up and down his arms stung as the water flowed over them, but he still had to get clean. He unlaced his boots and left them in the back of the tub; blood still caked into the stitching and the laces. Pants were tossed on the shower bar alongside the jacket, the copious amounts of filth sliding off the denim in huge blobs, splatting on the already disgusting tiles.

       Even with the searing heat of the water, he still shivered, standing in the spray wearing his t-shirt, boxers, and socks.

       God, why was he still so cold?

       He pulled off his shirt and looked down at the fresh needle tracks in his arm. That explains a lot. Vertigo has some intense side effects. Cisco dropped the shirt as a massive wave of nausea forced him down to his knees, sending him reeling, dry heaving over and over again. God, he felt so disgusted with himself, this had to be his fault somehow. Maybe, maybe he had provoked Thawne. The voice he had been hearing the past few days, the one thing helping keep him stable was gone. Probably just another one of his hallucinations.

       Typical.

       Why does everything always go wrong right when he needs it the most?

       At least he wasn’t seeing Thawne anymore. Just feeling him touching him, remembering the things he had said...

       Cisco whimpered and grabbed the bar of soap, frantically scrubbing the already raw skin on his arms. Some of the cuts reopened, oozing blood down into the water. Socks were pulled off and thrown into a wet ball in the middle of the disgusting puddle on the floor, and the boxers followed.

       He was going to burn those later.

       Cisco stayed in the shower until the water began to run cold before he got out, carefully avoiding the huge mess of his own vomit and blood. He really had to clean that up, but first, he had to get some whiskey.

       He staggered back into his bedroom, ignoring the distinct smell of sweat and fear, rummaging in his blankets for his flask. He needed some alcohol as soon as possible. With a psychotic smile, he grabbed the flask, unscrewing the lid and draining the whiskey inside.

       More. He needed more. He needed to get completely wasted and forget who he was.

       There was a quarter of a fifth under his bed, Cisco dropped down to his knees and grabbed the bottle, chugging the cheap whiskey in hopes to drown out his re-found memories.

       Cisco did a mental check of the alcohol in the apartment. This was it. There wasn’t any left. He stumbled to his closet, tossing on the nearest clothes. He needed more alcohol. If he couldn’t get drunk and forget what happened, he was going to do something he would regret.

       Grabbing his wallet and his pistol, tucking it into his pants, he left the door unlocked behind him. He didn’t remember where the keys were anyways, and he doesn’t have much worth stealing. The only real money he had came from the criminals he busted, and it wasn’t like they needed it.

       As he walked down to the liquor store, every little sound on the street sent him jumping with terror. Cisco kept a hand on his gun, ready to fire when necessary. He knew what people in this city were capable of; he wasn’t going to be a victim again.

       He walked into the liquor store, grabbed two cheap fifths of whiskey, a bottle of vodka and one of tequila. No mixin's, no chasers. Variety is good when it comes to drinking; you don’t want to build up too much of a tolerance.

       Cisco set everything down on the counter as carefully as he could, but it was still far too loud in the quiet store. The dark skinned cashier rang everything up, no judgment, no questions.

“Alright, just the sixty-five dollars total. And can I check your ID on this, please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cisco pulled out his wallet, letting the man check his driver's license, setting the money next to the alcohol.

“Looks like this all checks out, and that license is going to expire in a few months, should probably have them send you a renewal before that happens.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cisco was nervous, this was taking too long. He could be home by now, so drunk he couldn’t remember how to do maths. “Thank’s for the tip, homie.”

       The man smiled, “no problem man, just call me Lamont.” He bagged Cisco’s alcohol, sliding the paper bag across the counter. "See you next time."

“Thanks, Lamont, have a good one.”

“Stay safe out there.”

       Cisco basically sprinted back to his apartment, exhaustion already sinking into his bones. He didn't have a list for tonight, so he only had one thing he needed to do.

       He needed to drink.


	10. Burn Out the Burntout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not even twelve yet and I'm already drinking, guess it's going to be one of thoooose days, huh?  
> Well, here's another chapter for ya'll. If it seems a little weird, it's because I came out to half of my family but not the other half.  
> Soooo, hawkward.

       Cisco’s not sure he’s ever been this drunk in his entire life. The entire room looks like it’s spinning, swimming in a murky haze of booze and Vertigo, and he actually feels pretty damn good for once. No idea why there’s a hardboiled egg smashed into the carpet, but aside from some confusion stemming from that, he feels fucking great. Maybe he felt a little bit nauseous but other than that; he was still great. He looked at the almost empty fifth next to him, and he lifted the bottle and downed the rest in a few seconds.

       The burn of the cheap whiskey was barely noticeable anymore, and he threw the bottle against the wall where it shattered in hundreds of tiny shards.

       Fucking perfect. Almost an exact symbol for his entire life.

       He slumped back against the couch, his loaded pistol, and shotgun both slung across his lap. Sure, he wasn’t expecting company, but he couldn’t ever be too careful.  

_10:45 PM. 0 Texts, 0 Missed Calls and 0 E-Mails_

       Cisco laughed almost hysterically and threw his phone across the room, shattering it against the wall. Goddamnit. What’s even the point of keeping it anymore? Nobody gives a fuck what happened to him, might as well get rid of it. It’s just a drain on the electricity. Fuck it; he still had to pay his bill. At least he has cash, just needs to send it all in.

       He stumbled to his feet, tripping across the living room and staggering into the bathroom. God, the smell in there was almost solid. Just a hard wall of stench. Cisco almost retched the moment he stepped into the room. At least the puddle was dried up, didn’t have to worry about slipping. It was just gross and crusty. Nasty.

       Drunkenly wobbling, he grabbed his leathers and his combat boots.

       Still a little damp. Still smelling like vomit and blood. Gross. Whatever, he doesn’t give a fucking shit. Who’s going to tell him off anyway?

       He collected his vibe goggles and his bandana, pulling them over his head. He looked into the bloody shard of mirror in the sink, seeing glowing blue goggles staring back. This was the only escape he had left from his reality.

       Cisco pulled on his jacket, zipping himself back into the damp leather. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, he just knew he needed to go out. He just needed to get out of the apartment. Maybe just for an hour, maybe more. Pants changed, combat boots laced. Guns were both loaded; his baseball bat was in hand. He stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

       Out. He just needed out.

       He turned down random side streets, flinching internally at each noise around him. Something about city night felt  _off._ The air felt tense, almost as if the city was preparing for trouble. Cisco stepped into a back alleyway, swaying drunkenly, leaning against the dirty building side for support. Maybe he shouldn’t have finished off that fifth,; he was still feeling nauseous.

       Wait, there was someone talking in the building he was leaning on.

_“Alright, we’re going after the Rice-Perkins art collection in less than ten minutes, Mick is already on location, let’s get going.”_

_“Yeah, whatever bro. You’re just trying to get the Flash’s attention again, aren’t you?”_

_“Shut up; you don’t know-you don’t know what you’re talking about!”_

_“Sure I don’t, let’s just go steal some high-end, ridiculously expensive and completely unsellable art!”_

       Cisco frowned in concentration; he knew that the Rice-Perkins exhibit was being held in the Van Geld Opera House in the City Center, the city's more _affluent_ downtown district. Damn gentrification made the entire thing nothing but trendy art lofts, spendy nightclubs, and upscale coffee houses. And fuck, he was all the way out on the edges of Englewood; he was going to have to run for it. He was _not_ looking forward to passing through Petersburg. There were always people passing through there at all hours and he did not need that kind of heat.

       Cisco took a few deep breaths and broke into a run, each step accompanied by the bouncing of his shotgun and the baseball bat. He tried to stick to the back streets, not wanting to make a scene. It’s not exactly normal for full leather clad vigilantes to go running through the residential or restaurant districts. Sure, he had the potential for image distortion, but he didn’t want to try out any new powers, even if they would make him virtually invisible to cameras.

       A few minutes later, Cisco was leaning against an alley wall behind the opera house, breathing heavily, desperately trying to catch his breath. God, was he out of shape. Never again was he going to do that. Running that far that fast wasn’t a good idea no matter how healthy you are. He was never going to do that again. Cisco reached towards his pocket before mentally slapping himself for forgetting that he had destroyed his phone.

       God, looking back, he had no idea why he had done that. It’s not as easy to tell the time without it.

       There was the deep, rumbling sound of an engine and headlights at the alley entrance. Showtime. He hunkered down behind a disgusting trash can and waited for the thieves to get out. Wait, were those...? Yep, the virtually inseparable trio of Heatwave, Golden Glider, and Captain Cold. This would be easier than he had thought.

       As the criminals broke into the building, Cisco made sure his disguise was securely in place. Can’t have Captain Cold ratting him out to the Flash. Damn criminals with morals were making everything complicated. Bickering was able to be heard from the open door.  

“Lisa, you take out the cameras, Mick, grab the statues.”

“On it boss.”

“Sure, have me take out the camera’s, you just stand there and look cool for when the Flash get’s here.”

“That is not what I’m doing!”

“Sure sounds like that’s what you’re doing, Snart.”

“See Lenny? Even Mick is backing me up! Thanks, Mick.”

“No problem girly.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“No problem Kiddo.”

“Don’t talk to my sister like that.”

       Cisco listened to the arguing, casually strolling into the center of the room, shotgun in hand. Well, it was more of a drunken stumble, he was still wasted, and more than a little high. God, he still felt great, though. He fumbled as he checked to make sure the Confounder was active before speaking.

       “What is this, Central Cities junior varsity crime syndicate?”

       Captain Cold turned towards him, and the other two criminals stepped up to surround him. “What do you want?”

       Cisco rolled his eyes behind the glowing goggles. He noticed he’d been slipping back into his old ways, pure bravado, and big talk, no going back on his word. “Uh, _poner bolas_? Hello? You, criminals, me, vigilante? Kinda self-explanatory, avi _ón_.” He wasn’t sure if the sarcasm was coming through with the modulation, but he didn’t want to explain to them. Hell, he didn’t even know if they speak Spanish, but whatever, they can read between the lines. “What, were you expecting the Flash? No, no, _huevón_ , you get to deal with Paco tonight.”

       Lisa laughed, “it’s even obvious to this guy! Your little obsession with the Flash is getting weird.” She had a point; Snart  _is_ weirdly obsessed with the Flash. She might as well bring it to his attention. 

“It’s not weird…” Captain Cold looked uncomfortable with the turn of events, and he turned the conversation back to Cisco. “Why don’t you beat it, you’re outmanned and outgunned.”

 _“Listo,_ this is how it’s going to go,” Cisco tried to channel his drunk confidence, but he just couldn’t focus. He knew how to act tough, be bolder and go bigger then the enemy. Los Lobos just kept helping him so long after he had gotten out. “Okay _mijo_ , you’re going to put back the art, or I’m going to shoot you three in the face. Man, I don’t _want_ to shoot you, but I won’t lose any sleep over it either.”

       Lisa turned to her brother, “wait, isn’t this the guy that’s been taking out all those sex offenders?” She turned back to Cisco, “isn’t that you?”

     “I don’t see why that’s important, just put all the art back, and we won’t have trouble, _bacano?”_

       “It is him, Lenny, we can’t kill him, he’s a hero!” Lisa looked stunned, and more than a little bit shocked. "You know, I thought you'd be taller."

       Cisco felt a flood of rage flow through him, and he gritted his teeth. Something about the word ‘hero’ just set him off. He racked the shotgun and blasted a shell into the tile floor, booming sound echoing all through the room, rattling glass and resonating off tiles. “I ain’t no ‘ _hero_ ,’ don’t you be calling me a fucking _‘hero!’”_ He wasn’t a hero; he would never be a hero. He was just a gangster who tried to go straight, just to have it all go to shit in the end.

       Mick laughed, “damn, you got issues!”

       “Mick, probably not a good idea to laugh at the nut-job with a loaded shotgun.” Snart had a good point; he just didn’t know how bad of an idea it was. “Alright kid, say we _do_ leave the art, what are we supposed to do about _you_?” Cold grinned as if he had Cisco beat.

   “The fuck you think you supposed to do, man?” Cisco was losing control of the situation; everything was awash in a haze of red. He was just so _angry_ ; something had set him off, and he couldn’t pull himself back. His fists clenched in his fury, and his grip on his shotgun tightened to the point he was certain he would break something. “Just walk away.”

       Mick laughed again, “why are you trying to be a hero still? Damn kid, you just don’t quit do ya?”

       Cisco let off another round with the shotgun, racking it again while raising the pistol, leveling it directly at the pyromaniacs head. “What did you say to me?” His chest heaved with rage, his control was out of the window, might as well give it up now. He flipped off the safety, and slowly stepped towards Heatwave. “I told you, Don’t. Call. Me. A. _HERO!”_

       On the last word, he sprang forward like a madman, dropping both of his guns in favor of using his fists. The force of his jump threw the two of them a few feet back, Cisco landing on the criminal's chest, hands wrapped around their throat. He wasn’t a hero; he would go to any lengths to prove it. And if that length included throttling a pyromaniac with all of his might, well so be it.   

       Every few seconds Mick would get a good punch to his assailant's face, but Cisco just kept repeating, ‘not weak, not a hero’ as he went berserk. The Snart siblings were trying their best to grab him, but they couldn’t get a grip on the leather. Cisco continued to attack until he was thrown halfway across the room by the Flash, rolling to a stop almost ten feet away. Dammit Barry, what did he want?

       Mick sat up, rubbing his throat and holding his jaw. “Thank’s kid, don’t know how much more of that I could have taken.”

       “No problem, I would have been here sooner, but Cisco’s been missing for almost the past two weeks.”

       Cisco snorted, hah, ‘ _missing_.’ They hadn’t even been looking for him and he knew it. Cisco scrabbled for his weapons, he had to get out of here, had to get somewhere to clear his head.

       “And where do you think you’re going?” Barry landed a hand on Cisco’s retreating shoulder. “I’m going to need a really good reason just to let you walk away.”

 “Just back off and get your hand off me, Flash.” Cisco gritted his teeth; he really didn’t want to punch Barry in the face, but then again, he wasn’t sure if he was even a friend of his anymore. Why the hell wouldn’t he take his hand off his shoulder? Cisco wrenched his shoulder out of Barry’s grasp, wheeling around to face him, a threatening image of leather, red bandana and glowing blue goggles. “Don’t you ever try and touch me again.”

       Barry backed up a step, hands raised in surrender. “Alright man, alright.”

       Cisco turned to walk away again, a hand once more grabbing his shoulder. “I forgot to ask your name!” Cisco whirled around, acting on pure instinct and punching Barry directly in the face.

       He pulled down his bandanna and spat blood on the ground before he walked off, “name's Paco, best to remember it.”


	11. Discover the Darker Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see what happens when Team Flash reunites with their dear friend...

       It's been a while since the heist turned psychotic break, and Cisco's just trying to enjoy himself. Bottle of beer in hand, pistol in the other. At least the view of the moon and the company was good. Sure, the company was just two empty beers, assorted empty needles, and silence, but it was fantastic.

       Cisco was sitting alone atop STAR Laboratories, listening to the sound of the city. He had changed out of his leathers and picked up a six pack and his stash before climbing up here. And now that he was here he was just plain old Cisco Ramon. That’s what people wanted from him, wasn’t it? They just want a nerd to do their hard work, just need someone to stereotype and shove in a little box.

       Whatever, he’s used to it and a little too drunk to care right now. The six pack isn’t going to get him as drunk as he needs to be, though. At least he still had his flask in his pocket.

       And so what if the only reason he had come out here was to spy and see if anyone was worried about him, he’s a human being. He’s allowed to be cared about. Not so much to ask for, is it? Basic human decency didn’t seem to be so difficult, it shouldn’t be so hard to get, should it? No, he didn’t think so.

       Oh, looks like Barry was getting back, he looked dejected, as if he was actually worried about something. There’s still some blood on his face from that punch Cisco had landed on him. Cisco rolled his eyes, downed half the beer and threw an empty bottle at Barry’s head. He missed, of course, he was still too drunk to see straight, but he had shocked him pretty good, so…

       Cisco giggled tipsily, looking blankly down at the parking lot, not noticing the rest of Team Flash crowding around below him, pointing and crying. Mentally, he was miles away, escaping the living nightmare that was his existence. He tossed back the second half of his beer and threw the remaining empties down the wall to shatter on the concrete below. He leaned back on the roof, gazing at the fading stars and setting moon. The night sky truly is beautiful, you just feel so small when you look up at it. Cisco sighed and shut his eyes. It was cold up here, and the wind may sting the cuts and scars on his arms, but he didn’t mind, everything was beautiful. He took a deep breath of the cool night air, it was both soothing and a little haunting. Might as well take a break for a while, rest up before he heads out again.  

       There was a rush of air, even colder than the night wind. “Cisco? Oh, my God, CISCO!” Cisco felt someone shaking his shoulders trying to wake him back up. “Caitlin, fuck, get the med table ready!” Barry carefully picked Cisco up and rushed him inside.

       It felt like he was flying along at ridiculous speeds, then all of a sudden he was inside STAR Labs sitting in the middle of the medical center. Caitlin was trying to pull and roll up his sleeves to place an IV, Cisco pushed her hand away each time she tried. “No, no, ’m fine. Don’t do that.” She tried again, and he pushed her back. “Bad plan Caitlin, very bad plan.” He folded his arms against his chest and pulled his sleeves tight around his wrists. God, he couldn’t risk them seeing the state of his arms, couldn’t deal with the questions. “Don’t do that, don' touch my sleeves.”

       “Cisco, where have you been?!” Barry sounded panicked, he was rushing around like a madman, Cisco assumed he was calling the police. Probably calling Joe. Huh, looks like Jesse was already here, less explaining to do later.

       “Ya know,” Cisco shrugged and grabbed his flask out of his pocket. “I’ve been, been busy.” He downed half the flask, keeping his eyes on the floor and ignoring the incredulous looks of everyone. “What?”

       Barry stood stock still in the middle of the room, “you’ve been missing for almost two weeks…” He walked across the room slowly, “where the hell were you?”

       “Missing? No, that’s what you thought, _mijo_.” Another drink from the flask. “No, you just never thought to call or text me, hell, you never even shot me a damn e-mail, _huevón_.” Fuck, his flask was finally empty. He pushed Caitlin’s hand away again when she reached for his arm. “Stop that.”

         He looked at everyone in the room, Barry was stunned, Jesse was calling her dad, Caitlin looked like she was going to cry. Hell, he didn’t want to hurt them like this, he didn’t want to see them cry. He just didn’t know what he was supposed to do anymore. He was just so off track. He had never meant to go this far. Cisco held in his tears, he’s cried enough for the week.

        A screech of tires outside and two sets of rushing footsteps. Cisco braced himself for more drama as Earth-2 Harrison Wells and Joe West burst into the room. Joe ran across the room, he looked distraught, his gun in hand. “Cisco, you’ve been missing for almost two weeks! Where the hell have you been? We’ve had detectives out looking for you for days!”

       “Well, um, I…” Cisco wasn’t sure what to say, everyone was so _worried_ , he hadn’t thought they actually cared. God, it was stifling in here, was it always this warm in here? He scratched at his cuts nervously, he felt like everyone in the room was staring at him. Too much stress, there was no way he could handle this. Cisco stood up, he could feel his heart pounding and his breath quicken. He needed to get out of here, this had been a bad idea. “I’ve, I’ve,” he stuttered, trying to catch his breath and walk out of here.  “I’ve got to go.”   

       “What the hell do you mean?” Harry looked puzzled, “what do you mean you need to go?” He’d crossed the room while speaking and was standing at the edge of the bed, too close for comfort in Cisco’s opinion.

       Cisco turned away from the group. He couldn’t look at the voice’s source, everything he knew now, he just couldn’t look back. He knew it wasn’t Thawne, but that voice… it was almost identical and his stomach turned with every syllable he heard. “I just, I need to get out of here, okay? That too much to ask?” He scratched his arm again, too drunk and too high to see the blood seeping through his sleeves. God, he couldn’t deal with this, he shouldn’t have come back out here.

       Harry attempted to step forward, but a terrified looking stare made him back down. “Cisco, you’re not alright, you can’t leave.”

       “I’ll leave whenever I want to leave!” Cisco looked like a wounded animal backed into a corner, dangerous and afraid.

       Harry backed off and stepped across the room, noticing exactly how terrified Cisco had seemed when he spoke.

       He turned back, eyes wild with fright. “What the hell do you guys _want_?”

       Caitlin took a small step forward, just now seeing Cisco’s blown-out pupils. “Cisco, I need you to tell me the truth right now. Are you just drunk, or are you _high_?”

       “Little bit of both.” Cisco continued to scratch his cuts, blood flowing freely now, the rest of the group noticing and recoiling with shock. He gritted his teeth and shrugged nonchalantly, “what, so I took some Vertigo and maybe I did some coke.” He waved a bloody hand, “don’t worry, it’s all gonna be fine, man. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.” Blood dripped onto the floor, a small puddle on each side of him.

       He babbled on, trying desperately not to look at Harry, he didn’t think he’d be able to deal with the stress. Cisco gestured to himself, still not noticing the blood. “See? I’m fine!”

       “Cisco, you’re not fine!” Caitlin pushed him back toward the bed, once again holding the IV. “You’re bleeding, you smell like vomit and beer, and you’re higher than a damn skyscraper! This isn’t healthy! You need to let us help you.”

       Barry stepped up on his other side, he looked horrified at the state Cisco was in. “She’s right, Cisco, you need to let us help.”

       Cisco shook his head, whispering under his breath frantically, “nonono, nope, no. Can’t trust anyone, gotta be tough, can’t be weak.” He tried to jump back off of the table, but both Caitlin and Barry were holding him in place. Lack of food was really starting to take it’s toll on his strength, but he still had an advantage. Cisco pulled his arm out of Barry’s grasp and grabbed his pistol. “I don’t need your help! I can only trust myself, gotta be strong, not going to be weak.”

       He collected the little bit of strength he had left, swung his gun wildly, hopping off the table and heading for the exit, trying to shake Barry’s hand off of him again. “You guys need to quit trying to help me, I’m fine on my own, _bacano_?” Cisco continued to rant, not noticing Caitlin grabbing a needle of sedative. “You guys barely even tried to look for me, so why the fuck do you care so much now?”

       There was a sudden pain in his neck, and his limbs felt like lead weights. “What did you… what did you do to me?” The room seemed to spin, colors swirling and blending together until they all faded to black and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

    


	12. Darker than Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team finds out a small piece of what Eobard Thawne has done, and let's see how Cisco reacts to being viewed as a victim... this is going to be the big reveal moment, 'strip away the flesh of man and see the mighty power within' type moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know Harry is kind of a fucking douche bag in show, but he really does care about his daughter and about his friends on Team Flash. So I took a little liberty with his character in this chapter because I just feel that he would actually worry.

       It had been a few hours since Cisco had shown up at STAR Labs, but it was still almost unbelievable. The state of his arms, just the amount of cuts, Caitlin hadn’t been sure if she would be able to stitch them up. Even when sedated he had jolted awake and tried to run off. Eventually, they decided to handcuff him to the bed, it was for his own good they couldn’t have him running around in his condition. Dehydrated, malnourished, massive blood loss, addicted to Vertigo and on the edge of alcohol poisoning. That and the cocaine… the only question the team had was ‘what had happened to him?’

       Caitlin had him on an IV drip to try and get him hydrated, and maybe combat the drugs and alcohol in his system. The number of cuts was, to put it simply, was disturbing. Almost two weeks worth of cuts and raised scarring, some places with skin so sliced and tattered it was almost impossible to stitch back together. There was no way in hell he would ever heal completely from them. At least there was no infection.

       And then there were all the needle tracks, more than seven of them in a small cluster. Deep punctures with massive black and purple bruises surrounding them like a dark cloud.

       Nobody knew what they were supposed to do, how were they supposed to help someone that doesn't want them to?

       Even with all the damage to his body, the team was more worried about the damage to his mind. Cisco didn’t seem to trust them, and there was no way in hell he was capable of making any rational decisions.

       Barry and Caitlin had called Cisco’s mom and Dante said that he was already on his way, so at least they knew he was still alive. Dante had said that he might have some more information for them, but he would have to wait until he talked to Cisco. Everyone had agreed to just give Cisco and his brother some space once Dante got to STAR Labs and Cisco woke up. One's family is always important, especially when someone’s in trouble.

       After all of the debating, Harry was leaning against the door frame, watching Cisco as he slept. Not in a creepy way, but more of a _‘why the hell is he so scared of me’_ way. Last few weeks he’d thought they’d been getting along, but now? He wasn’t sure what was going on, but the entire team had seen the state of his arms. Cisco needed some serious help whether he wanted it or not. The kid kept muttering in his sleep, something about Eobard Thawne, and not being weak.

       What the hell had Cisco been through?

       Harry would never admit it, but he was worried about Cisco, the kid was severely dehydrated and the amount of drugs and alcohol in his system should have killed him. Hell, it should have killed more than one person. But somehow he had lived, and he still had the capacity for night terrors and some disturbing muttering.

       Harry shook his head and walked off to find his daughter, they had some sleuthing to do in the fake Wells’ office. Something had always seemed _off_  with that room and he intended to get to the bottom of it. And if getting to the bottom of the issue included destroying that terrible monstrosity of a desk, well, that was a pretty big plus in his opinion.

       “Jesse? Where are you, sweetheart?” Damn it, that girl is really good at vanishing. Harry walked down the long curved hallways, she had to be down here somewhere. “Jesse? You want to help me trash the fake Wells’ office?” He stood in the middle of the hallway, unsure of the direction he should search in.

       “I’m in your lab, dad.”

       Harry stepped into his lab, Jesse looked tired, she’d been up for hours talking with Caitlin and Barry about Cisco’s condition. “Are you alright, Jesse?”

       Jesse waved her hand dismissively, “no, I’m fine, just worried about Cisco is all.” She yawned behind her hand, trying to hide her drowsiness. “I can’t believe what he did to his arms…” Jesse stood up and stretched out her stiff muscles, rolling her shoulders and popping her joints. “Now, what was that you said about trashing an office?”

       “Grab a crowbar, we need to destroy some file cabinets and a desk.” The two set off, crowbars in hand, and Harry continued his explanation.

       “Eobard Thawne. This Earth's fake me, you remember the time hopping nutcase, right?” Harry strode towards the aforementioned office, Jesse right at his side. “I think his appearance last month is what messed with Cisco's head, he almost died from the repercussions of the time discrepancies. And he’d been acting pretty odd the weeks leading up to his disappearance.”

       “So you think Thawne had something to do with it?” Jesse sounded a little skeptical, but she had noticed how odd Cisco had been acting, almost as if he had a secret.

       “I’m almost sure of it.”

       They stopped outside the office door, both of them ready to do some damage.

       Jesse turned to her dad, “ready?”

       “I’m so ready.” The duo stepped through the door and Harry walked up to the hated desk. “You take the shelving and the filing cabinets, I’ll take this hideous desk.”

       There’s something cathartic about destroying the belongings of your impostor, even if they’re not your _own_ impostor. It’s more complicated than that, but I digress.

       Harry pulled out the drawers of the desk, frowning at the cheap wood and cast them aside. He noticed something odd when he looked back at the hideous desk. There was something weird about the dimensions of the desk, the drawers were more than an inch shorter than they should have been and the cheap wood paneling definitely wasn’t thick enough to compensate for the discrepancies in the space. Ergo, there was probably a secret compartment hidden in the desk side boards.

       “Jesse, help me turn this over.” Jesse tossed her crowbar across her shoulder and walked into the center of the room. The duo turned the desk onto its side, and Harry wedged the crowbar into a seam in the wood, carefully pulling down and separating the two pieces. A loud _*crack*_ and a _*snap*_ reverberated through the office, and from the cracked panel of the desk fell a small metal tin with no locks, just a simple latch.

       Harry picked up the tin, wiping off the dust, and turned back to his daughter. “Now then, what do we have here?”

       Jesse dropped her crowbar to the floor and peered at the small tin Harry held in his hands. “What do you think’s inside of it?”

       “Let’s find out.” He slid the latch, dry metal rasping as it moved. The lid almost fell off, only held in place by the now opened latch. Inside of the box sat a USB memory stick, Harry lifted it and held it to the light. There was nothing on it except a typed label of _‘STAR Labs security: deleted.’_

       “Looks like Eobard Thawne had some more secrets he didn’t want the world to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long, I was out of country on vacation and didn't have internet access on the island,


	13. Oh Brother

       Some loud beeping of machinery and the smell of medical grade alcohol. The sound of an A/C and the buzz of computers. Of course, it was STAR Labs. Even while he was half asleep Cisco would always recognize the distinct sounds of the laboratory he had once worked in.

       Cisco blinked slowly back to consciousness, trying to reorient himself. God, he felt awful, almost like he’d been run over by a garbage truck. He looked around the bright room, taking in the IV drips, the handcuffs, Dante sitting next to his bed with a frown on his face. Wait. When had Dante gotten here? Hell, when had _he_ gotten here. Last thing he remembered was drinking on the roof of STAR Labs and throwing empty beer bottles at the Flash, but it was still a little hazy from the cocaine. Cisco groaned with pain as he began to feel the stinging of all his cuts and the bruises from his late nights in the city.

       Dante sat up with a frown the moment he realized Cisco was awake, “well, well! Look who’s decided to rejoin the world of the living!” Dante crossed his arms, glaring at his younger brother. He couldn’t tell him how worried he really was, couldn’t say what was really on his mind. “You should know that you had mom worried all week. She almost fainted when your friends called her.”

       Damn, his mom knew he was back? He hadn't said a word to her since he had moved out again. Did she know what he was doing in the city night? 

       Dante continued talking, putting to rest Cisco’s fears. “And don’t worry, _Paco_ , I didn’t tell her that you’re the damn idiot running around in leather trying to fight crime. Hell, she still doesn't know about half of the shit you pulled back in Detroit.”

       Cisco groaned and closed his eyes, realizing just how terrible he felt. He needed some water, and definitely some kind of food. “...wha…” He tried to clear his throat from the feeling of sandpaper. “...ugh, what you want from me, Dante? You just here to make me feel worse about myself?”

       A look of concern crossed Dante’s face before he spoke but was soon replaced with one of frustration. “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing, running around out in the city at night.” Dante wasn’t an idiot, he had seen the signs, the street tags. He’d seen the flaming wolf head painted at every crime scene. He would always recognize the symbol of the Los Lobos, the gang that had almost swallowed Cisco’s entire life. That gang had almost killed his little brother more than once, and there was no way in hell he was going to let it happen after all these years.

       With a quiet groan, Cisco pushed himself into a sitting position, the short metal chain of the handcuffs limiting his movement. He rattled the chain a little, testing the strength. He didn’t want to stay in cuffs for longer than needed. Cisco took a shallow breath, lungs stinging with the fresh air. “How…” He cleared his throat and looked across the room away from his brother. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how he knew. “How did you know about that? How did you know it was me out there?”

       Dante laughed without humor, a dark look on his face. Too many times in Detroit had he come home to his brother covered in blood from some ‘minor misunderstanding’ with a rival gang. Far too many times had he seen his little brother coming down from some high and acting terrified, jumping in shock at any little sound. There was no way in hell he was going to let that happen again. He had never planned to let him know how much he really cared, but if he didn’t he wasn’t sure if he would ever have the opportunity to do so ever again. “Don’t even ask little bro, you know I always find out what you’re doing.” He stood up and paced next to the bed. He couldn’t tell Cisco that he’d seen the state of his arms, couldn’t tell him he knew about the drinking and the drugs. But he still needed to know what he was doing out there in the city at night. He stopped his pacing and turned back to his younger brother, getting close and trying not to let his worry show. “What the hell do you think you’re doing out there anyways? You’re not a gang leader, this isn’t Detroit and you don’t have your little gang out there to back you up anymore.”

       He stood up and paced next to the bed. He couldn’t tell Cisco that he’d seen the state of his arms, couldn’t tell him he knew about the drinking and the drugs. But he still needed to know what he was doing out there in the city at night. He stopped his pacing and turned back to his younger brother, getting close and trying not to let his worry show. “What the hell do you think you’re doing out there anyways? You’re not a gang leader, this isn’t Detroit and you don’t have your little gang out there to back you up anymore.”

       “I know that… I just... “ Cisco looked down at his bandaged arms, remembering the last time he had spoken so freely with his brother. It was so long ago, he barely remembered what they had talked about. Cisco sighed and looked back up, hoping Dante would understand what he was trying to do without him having to explain himself. “People just need me out there, I can’t quit.”

       “Yeah, you’re going after criminals now aren’t you, Paco?” Dante laughed dryly, he knew there was no way he would be able to convince Cisco to not go out there. He might not know what had inspired this crusade, but he knew he had to convince him to try and be careful out there. “Look, Cisco…” Dante sighed, he knew this would be hard for Cisco to believe, but he needed to say it. “Cisco, I’m not going to try and talk you out of going out there, I just want you to be careful.”

       Cisco was taken aback, this was the first time in a long time that Dante wasn’t trying to make everything an argument. “Dante, what are you trying to tell me?”

       “I’m saying that I don’t care that you’re out there beating the fuck out of people, I don’t care about any of that.” Dante stared down at the floor, such emotional discussions weren’t his forte. “I just want you to stay safe when you’re out there, I don’t know if I could handle losing you, little bro.”

       “Dante…I didn’t know... I don’t know what to say.” Cisco felt strange, he hadn’t had such an emotional discussion with his brother in so long. “You don’t think I should stop? Don’t think I need to give it up and let it go?”

       “Duh Paco, of course, I think you should stop it, and of course, I think you need to give it up. But it’s not my choice to make, is it? This is your life and I also know that when you think something needs to be done you’re usually right about it.” Dante started pacing again, taking all the while. “Fucking hell Paco, remember back when you were just a kid? You used to make everything a huge ordeal, constantly trying to change the way things were done. You wanted things to be fair, wanted to make everything right. Always standing up for those who needed help.”

        But there was something else Dante wasn’t saying, something he was certain Cisco had forgotten over the years. Dante remembered how it was that Cisco had started all of his crusades, demanding justice because of one person.

        “...I remember I had a bully, who was it…” Cisco seemed lost in thought, remembering the faded events of the past.    

       Dante frowned, he still remembered the name. Jake Puckett. Of course, Dante remembered the kid's name, he always would. An angry boy who had been held back more than once and decided to make Cisco do his homework. He remembered the first time Cisco had come home with a bruised cheek and a bloody nose, now he recognized the signs of a bully, but back then he hadn’t done a thing. Dante wasn’t sure what else had gone on, but he knew that Cisco hated to be alone in a room with anyone bigger than himself for years after that.

       Hell, he wouldn’t even stay in the same room with his friends or even with Dante. Something had happened that made Cisco scared, and Dante hated it. He hated Jake Puckett, hated that he had fucked around with his brother. And he hated that he hadn't done anything about it at the time.

       “I guess it doesn’t really matter now, does it? It was years ago.” Cisco sat quietly, watching Dante pace across the floor. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”

       Dante stopped his pacing and grabbed Cisco by the shoulders. “Because you need to hear it now. You need to know that no matter what happens, you’re not alone with everything you do. You have me, Paco, you’ve got me.” The two brothers embraced, their brotherly bond still strained, but now healing after many long years of neglect.

       An outside voice broke up the impromptu hug, “now this is all very touching, but if you two don’t mind, I have something I need to run on the main computers.”

       Harrison Wells and Jesse stepped awkwardly into the room, the latter looking properly uncomfortable with the oddly tender moment they had just disturbed. “Sorry,” Jesse mumbled, trying not to stare at her bedridden friend.

       Harry blew the tiny specks of dust out of the USB stick and connected it to the main computer. The screen went black and letters in a contrasting yellow crawled across the pixels.

_‘Error X45: Unknown Computer Location. File Access Denied, Password Required.’_

       “A little challenge, eh?” Harry grinned and set out typing furiously, code crawling across the screen at insane speeds. “That should just about do it.”

_‘Error Y16: Unknow Password. File Access Denied, Three Attempts Remaining.’_

       “What? Looks like this is going to be a little more work than I had thought.” He started typing again, not trying to work with the program this time, but just using brute strength to force his way through the firewalls protecting the information he sought. “Jesse, connect another keyboard and help me out with this.”

       Cisco and Dante awkwardly watched the two work and tried to ignore the fallout from their emotional conversation. Dante attempted to strike up a light dialog, “so, uh, there’s another earth? Like a parallel or something?”  

       “Yeah, man…” Cisco rolled his eyes and shrugged. “There’s a lot of them… It’s, it’s a pretty complicated situation.”

       Dante nodded uncomfortably. “Seems like it would be.”

       The two continued to force conversation, preferring to distract themselves and not wanting to address the most important matter.

        A loud beep sounded through the main computer speakers, drawing attention to the screens. The monitors all were deep black with bright yellow text scrolling and declaring;

_‘Function 45X, File Access Allowed. Welcome, Cisco Ramon.”_

       “Wait, what?” Harry turned towards the bedridden man, curiosity written across his face. “Why does it think I’m you?”

        The four people gazed up at the main screen, watching as the yellow text faded away and the screen lightened. On the main monitor, an image began to form and fade into focus. A man sitting in a wheelchair stood and walked forwards in the frame.

Eobard Thawne.

 _“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Cisco, looks like your curiosity got the better of you, didn’t it?”_ Thawne leered menacingly into the camera, teeth far too sharp to be normal. _“You couldn’t live with the empty spaces in your memory so you went looking for answers.”_ Thawne laughed darkly, an evil grin on his face. _“You know, I hadn’t always planned on this, it just sort of happened. I had just wanted to take down the Flash, but you were a surprise. One could say that you just fell into my lap.”_

       Cisco had gone pale as a sheet, with those last words he knew now exactly what was on that USB stick. He had to stop this, had to make sure they didn’t know. He pulled frantically at the handcuffs before grabbing the nearest metal tool he could find and twisted apart one of the links in the chain. For once in his life, he was thankful that nobody was paying any attention to him.

       On the screen Thawne was still talking, a wistful look on his face. _“Oh Cisco, I wish I could say I regret what I did, but I really don’t. I could never regret it. Everything you could ever want to know is on this memory stick. You’ve got your answers now, just hope you can live with the truth!”_ The screen faded into grainy security footage, Thawne pretending to be Wells, and Cisco standing in his office.

       But back in reality, Cisco felt something he had never felt before. Not simple rage, not just a need for vengeance, but he felt a white-hot power in his veins. He aimed a hand at the screen and let out a sonic blast, shattering the main monitor in a storm of glass and sparks. Jesse and Dante backed away in shock, leaving Harry still seated in front of the main computer.

       His voice low, Cisco turned slowly towards Harry, fists clenched in shaking anger. “Where did you find this?”

       Without missing a beat, he let out another blast. A dusty crater was dented deep into the floor, sending cracks deeper still into the concrete. “I'll ask again, where did you find this?”

       Harry cowered in a mix of fear and shock, he had never seen Cisco look so intimidating, not even the version of him on his own world. It was all he could do not to show just how scared he was. “Thawne’s office! It was hidden in his desk!”

       Cisco yanked the USB out of the port and tossed it into the dusty crater in the floor. He knew they would find it, but he also knew he wouldn't see any of them for a long time. “I thought I could trust you people…” He shook his head and turned towards the medical lockup, grabbing his bloody clothes, his flask, and his pistol. “I guess I was wrong. Can’t trust anyone but myself.” Cisco turned back to the door. “I know you’re going to try anyways, but don’t follow me.”


	14. Followup Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter while half asleep in an airport, so, sorry in advance.

       Even though he knew they would follow, Cisco still can’t stand the feeling of them hiding behind him. He’s been trying to take the most complicated route back to the apartment, but he can only run for so long. He knows that he’ll have to stop eventually. Just means he has to work a little bit harder on his plan.

       With the amount of adrenaline in his system, he wasn’t even vibing the information, it just came to him in waves, almost like a premonition or an instinct. Each move was thought out long before he acted on it, and every possible reaction played out in his mind like a screenplay. If he weren't in such a hurry, he would have wanted to spend some more time studying how this was working.

       But he was more interested in how that sonic burst had worked; he just didn’t have the time right now.

       Cisco turned quickly into a blind corner and climbed the nearest fire escape, clambering through an open window into an empty apartment. He looked through the window down at the streets and saw a red streak zoom past the building he was hiding inside. It wasn’t surprising that they had Barry follow him, but he hadn’t thought that eluding the 'Fastest Man Alive' would have been so easy. Cisco walked out of the apartment, not bothering to close the door behind him. Who knows, somebody else might need the hiding space later on.

        It had only been a few minutes and would only be a short walk back to his apartment, but Cisco already knew he was being followed again. This time they were using the security cameras to trace his movements, but not for much longer. Cisco broke into a sprint, racing into his building and storming up the stairs. He tore into his apartment and slammed the door behind him sliding the couch against it. He had less than five minutes before Barry would be in his living room, begging him to come back to STAR Labs.

       He needed to get out of here, needed to separate himself from the rest of the city if he was still going to go out and try to protect people. There was no way in hell he was going back to STAR Labs now, not now that they _knew._ Cisco changed into his leathers in record time, sliding his bandanna and Vibe goggles over his head and turning on his voice modulator. There was more of a need for it now than he had had before.

       Old laptops and computer parts were shoved into a backpack, and Cisco grabbed an incomplete scan he had made of Gideon when they were still operational. Pieces of prototypes were collected and tossed in the bag. He had a simple plan in the works; he just needed to make sure he wasn’t followed. Cisco threw some extra cables and cans of spray-paint into the bag before zipping it up and throwing it on his back.

Weapons? Check.

Goggles? Check.

Ammo? Check.

Baseball bat? Check.

Cash? Ehh, he can do without alcohol for a while, he had more important things to focus on right now. Mainly on getting away from the people who knew what had happened and wanted to act like it was all going to be alright. He would be fine for now.

       There was a loud knock at the door, _‘Cisco? Are you in there?”_ Another knock and a wiggle of the handle. _“Hello?”_

       Cisco carefully peeled the dark cover away from the window in his bedroom and opened it with as little noise as he could manage.

       The handle was wiggled again, and the door was shaken in its frame. _“Cisco, it’s Barry, I know you’re there Cisco, I just want to talk to you!”_

       Cisco swung his legs out the window and mentally judged the distance. He was only on the third story, he wasn’t carrying too much weight, and the full dumpster would break his fall.

       A loud _*crunch*_ signaled his door being broken down. _"Come on Cisco, just come back okay?"_ Barry sounded like he was closer, probably standing in the middle of his living room by now. _“Everyone’s really worried about you.”_

       Cisco took a few quick breaths, trying to psych himself up for the jump. He leaned forward and let himself drop down all three stories into the dumpster below. Even after he had prepared himself, he still wasn't ready for the landing. As he climbed out of the dumpster, he adjusted his goggles and his bandanna, keeping his face hidden from the few security cameras in his path.   

       He took off at a brisk pace towards Lawrence Hill's, security out there had been lax lately, and he could probably hide out in the empty warehouses for a few weeks before he would have to come up with a more permanent solution.

       A familiar red blur sped past him, and Cisco kept his head down, not wanting to arouse any suspicion.

       He kept staring down at the ground until he saw a set of red boots he would recognize anywhere. Cisco pulled his gaze from the ground and looked up at the Flash. “Hey, have you seen someone pass through here?”

       Cisco stared out from behind the Vibe goggles, praying Barry didn’t recognize him. “No, I’m the only one here.” The modulator managed to mask any uncertainty he felt, only leaving powerful confidence.

       Barry stared right back; he looked a little surprised. “Aren’t you… You’re that guy that punched me in the face! The new vigilante in town.”

       Cisco frowned, his anxiety steadily on the rise. “Yeah, and I’m a little busy right now, but not too busy, know what I mean?” Cisco gestured with his baseball bat, hoping he was making his point. He didn’t want to hit Barry, but it was easier than answering questions.

       “I don’t like your style of heroics.”

       Cisco glared behind the goggles, his response coming to him almost automatically. “That’s because I’m not a hero, _mijo_.”

       “If you’re not a hero than what are you?”

 _“_ Just someone who doesn’t like what some people do.” Cisco leaned in close, “you have a problem with any of this, _marica_?”

       “Oh no, no problem.” Barry looked like he was going to leave, but then he stopped. “What are people supposed to call you?”

“Just call me Paco, now, do we have a problem or can I leave?”

       “Go right ahead.” Barry turned to take off in the opposite direction. “And if you see a guy with a ponytail and bandaged arms, tell the people at STAR Labs, he’s been missing.” A rush of air signaled that Barry had left, and Cisco continued on his path. He really needed to get away from the main part of the city. He just needed out.


	15. All Killer No Filler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, to each his own. I chose my path, you chose the way of the hero. And they found you amusing for a while, the people of this city. But the one thing they love more than a hero is to see a hero fail, fall, die trying. In spite of everything you've done for them, eventually they will hate you. Why bother?”  
> -Green Goblin, Spider-Man 2002

**_“We’re not safe with this armed psycho on the loose!”_ **

       You just can’t get away from the opinions of the people around you.

**_“The man is a menace!”_ **

       The news was always negative these days.

**_“No one should get to choose who lives and who dies!”_ **

       Violence and the absolute worst of humanity broadcast across the airwaves and on people’s screens. There’s not much you can do about it, there’s no escaping it, people have always glorified those who commit acts of violence and atrocities. It’s just the way the world works. And Central City is no different from the rest.

**_“He’s a criminal, there’s no other word for it! He’s just a criminal!”_ **

       Once so obsessed with the new vigilante and his ways of violence, the tide has started to shift away from their favor. People who had once publicly praised the man now abhorred him, spewing hatred and bile, claiming the law must not be taken into one person’s hands. Even with a broken legal system people still tout the importance of the law. It’s just what happens and what has always happened.

**_“How are we supposed to feel safer with this murderer on the loose?”_ **

       The world will claim to love you, praise you, worship the ground you tread, but the moment you cross some invisible line of morality… they treat you like a diseased animal, something they don’t want to look at or touch but they still believe should be put down. Pure hatred changes their words into weapons and each word is aimed at the heart.

**_“The police need to do something about this madman!”_ **

       Central City news stations had been covering the issues since the first appearance of the leather wearing vigilante and claim to be an impartial source, but all the viewers can tell that they are meant to hate the man people call the ‘hero of the night.’ They want the public to hate one of the few people that are trying to help them. In order to do so, they sensationalize every act of violence he commits, every justifiable beating is turned into a question of morality. Each death is blown out of proportion. Yet they never focus on the crimes that are being prevented, only on the negative aspects.

**_“But he’s doing what nobody else is willing to do!”_ **

       They say he’s taking the money from drug deals instead of leaving it as evidence. They say he’s been seen repeatedly in the same liquor store as if nobody in the town has an alcohol problem. The news claims he’s using the drugs he takes from the gangs and the pushers. But the public knows that it’s just propaganda. They know how much filth is really on the streets, they know what hides in the dark. The criminals who will take whatever they can get at any opportunity. So what if the person helping them out has problems? Everyone has vices they’re ashamed of, everyone has a few skeletons in their closet.

**_“He’s a murderer!”_ **

       News anchors spouting off more nonsense every damn day.

**_“What, are you going to go and stop him?”_ **

       While the people who need someone to give them hope try to see the light at the end of the dark tunnel, those in charge of the slander and the libel try to bury the truth. There is somebody out there other than the Flash. Somebody who is always there to prevent the senseless violence and death. Someone to stand up for the regular citizen instead of chasing around Metahumans.

**_“He’s doing the right thing, this city needs someone to stand up and say ‘no, this isn’t right!’”_ **

       You can’t escape what’s on the news, the words seem to follow you until they sink into your skin and soak into your mind. It’s just how it works, and you either change your mind and join them, or you become a victim of the slander and the libel as well.

**_“He’s a killer, sure he’s killing criminals, but he’s still a killer! He needs to be put behind bars!”_ **

       Cisco turns away from the sound of the TV, he doesn’t want to hear more negative opinions about himself, he has plenty of his own. He looks up at the horizon, staring at the slowly rising sun. There’s nowhere else for him to be right now, his list is complete, he might as well appreciate the view.  

       A door slams in the distance and there’s a loud, angry, voice down a nearby street. _“Shut up, you filthy animal!”_ A distressed bark follows the voice, something is wrong.

       Tightening his grip on his baseball bat, Cisco turns a street corner, keeping an eye out for any suspicious behavior. There’ve been some rumors of an underground dog-fighting ring in one of the seedier areas just on the edges of Lawrence Hill’s. Cisco hadn’t seen any proof of it yet, but it was best to keep his head up in case he came across anything. He hadn’t planned to actively track them down, but judging from the sounds he was hearing he might have a lead.

       Cisco turned the next corner and peeked into the dimly lit alleyway. There was a man standing with a knife, muttering angrily at a huddled mass of fur on the ground. “Damn dog, this is the big fight and you lose?! Why couldn’t you have died in that ring?” The man knelt down and moved to strike.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you." Cisco stepped up behind the man, baseball bat gripped tightly. “You never know who might be watching.”

       “Who the fuck are you? Fuck out of my face, man!” The dogfighter looked irritated, but soon he would look much worse. “I told you to step off, bitch!”

       Cisco swung the bat up, pointing the end directly at the criminal’s face. “Leave the dog and we won’t have any problems, understand?”  He was itching for another fight, the adrenaline of the night still coursing through his system like a flood of boiling waters.

       The thug squared up and spat on Cisco’s boots. “Fuck you, man, this is my dog!”

“Look’s like this isn’t going to be your day then, _idiota_.”   Cisco took the first swing with his bat, feeling the vibrations of the metal and the criminal’s grunt of pain as the bat connected with their ribcage. He swung again, this time, it was to knock the knife out of the man’s hand. “Are you going to make this easy on yourself, or are you going to keep fighting?”

       “You fucking wetback, I’ll kill you for that.” The man pulled out another knife and lunged, stabbing it through the camouflage pants and deep into Cisco’s thigh.

       Pain radiated from the wound and stabbed through Cisco’s leg. He kicked the other man in the face before steadying himself again. At the moment the wound wasn’t what was important. “...did you say what I thought you said?”The only thought that went through Cisco’s mind was, _‘you can’t even use the right racial slurs’_ followed by nothing but a solid red sheet of anger. Afterward, all he knew was that Reverb hadn’t lied when he said he could shatter someone’s entire nervous system without breaking a sweat.

       As Cisco came down from the adrenaline high, he heard a quiet whimper. The bloody mess of a dog had crawled over to him and was staring up at him expectantly. “Hey, little guy… do you want a new home?”   Cisco knelt down the best he could with the knife still in his leg and reached out a hand for the dog to smell. “You want to come with me? I can clean you up and then you can watch as I pull this knife out of my leg.”

       There was a small movement from the dog, almost as if was attempting to wag its tail. Cisco flopped to the ground next to the animal and grabbed the handle of the knife. He took a few deep breaths and slowly pulled the blade out of his thigh, immediately putting pressure on the wound. Luckily he carried a roll of bandages in his vest, and he pulled out the roll, tightly winding it around his thigh. “Looks like I’m out a pair of pants now.”   He laughed a little, a bit too manic sounding in the steadily warming air. “We need to get out of here, boy, hold on.”

       Cisco gently patted the dog on the head gently before carefully scooped the injured animal into his arms as he stood back up, wincing from the pain. He took a few hobbling steps towards the abandoned warehouse he was staying in before almost buckling at the knees. God, he’d almost forgotten how much being stabbed hurt. Haha, not. He just hadn’t thought that anyone would be stabbing him today, he wasn’t prepared for this.

       He gritted his teeth to the pain and continued limping back, he had a few blocks to go, might as well get used to it.


	16. What am I to Say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the long update time. This entire month has been pulling me down into a serious funk. The chapter just kicked my ass for some reason, I had some serious difficulty finding motivation and the energy to write this week. Sorry for the long update time.

       Barry had searched the city thrice over with still no sign of Cisco. No trace of him on the security cameras or traffic cams of the city. He seemed to have evaporated into the city streets like fog on a warm morning. It almost seemed hopeless to keep looking for him.

       Dante had left the moment the first search come up with nothing, he knew Cisco wouldn’t be found by any living soul if he didn’t want to be. He had to admit that Cisco was good at what he did, even if what he did was mostly illegal. There was no reason for him to stick around. He didn’t want to know what was on that USB stick, not unless he had no other choice but to watch it. Dante knew he would be crossing a line and he didn’t want to cross any boundaries, even if Cisco wasn’t there to find out. So Dante went to the shitty little apartment the Flash had followed Cisco to. He knew there wasn't much he could do, but he just wanted to check everything for himself.

       You respect and take care of  your family, even if you pretend to hate each other. There was something that their dad used to tell them back in Detroit, _“Mirar hacia fuera para sus hermanos. Son los únicos que tiene.”_

      “Watch out for your brothers. They’re the only ones you have.”

       The rest of them had regrouped back at STAR Labs, trying to understand what had happened.  The team was worried, and with each moment that passed they grew more anxious and tense. Nobody had dared check and see what was on the USB stick that had sent Cisco into such a state. They weren’t sure if they should watch, but their curiosity was bound to win out in the end.

       The memory stick had been picked back up and placed in front of the main computers. Powdered concrete and dust untouched and serving of a vicious reminder of Cisco’s anger on what was on the USB stick. Whatever information it held was guaranteed to be horrific and something that shouldn’t be seen by anyone.  

       Harry picked up the USB drive and blew off the dust. “I’m just going to say what we’re all thinking, sure watching what’s on here would be an invasion of privacy, but it’s a necessary evil to find out what happened.” He set the drive back in front of the main computer and turned back to the others. “If you don’t want to go through with this then you should leave now.” Jesse stood off to the side of her dad and she nodded in agreement. There was nothing she wanted to add to the argument and she felt as if she should just keep out of it.

       “We really shouldn’t watch what’s on there.” Caitlin looked worried, she had seen the state of Cisco’s health and if it had anything to do with what was on that video footage she didn’t want to know. “None of us should do this, you saw how he reacted, we can’t invade his privacy like this. It’s not the right thing to do.”

        Caitlin had a good point, but Barry wasn’t so sure and decided to voice his opinion, “but we _did_ see how he reacted, and something tells me what’s on that video can explain why he ran off.” Barry looked towards the crater in the middle of the floor. “And I’m sure it could explain why he’s been cutting himself. You know that he’s not in a good place mentally, we need to do something. At the very least, we need to _try_.”

       Caitlin shook her head, she didn’t agree with this but Barry had a point. They needed to find Cisco at all costs, even if it was an invasion of privacy. She sighed sadly and stepped up to the main computer. “You’re right, Cisco needs our help.”

       Harry plugged the USB stick into the port and watched as the yellow letters crawled across the screen once more. “Here we go again.”

_‘Error X45: Unknown Computer Location. File Access Denied, Password Required.’_

       Jesse and Harry repeated the previous actions that had strong-armed the security into allowing access.

_‘Function 45X, File Access Allowed. Welcome, Cisco Ramon.’_

      The video once more played through Thawne’s oddly threatening message and the screen again faded into the grainy security footage of the now destroyed office. A thin crackle of static undercut the recorded voices, but it was still understandable.

 

_*** “Thank you for joining me Mr. Ramon, now, won’t you take a seat?” Thawne stood from his seat behind his desk and gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the wooden monstrosity. ”I’ve been very interested in asking you about your progress on the accelerator this last month.” Thawne strode across his office and poured himself a glass of scotch from the carafe against the wall. He poured a second glass with his back turned to the other man in his office. Cisco might not have seen what had been added to the glass, but the camera caught everything._

_The version of Cisco in the video grinned over-eagerly as they sat down at the desk. “Thank you again so much for this opportunity to work here, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”_

_The smile Thawne wore was friendly on the surface, but showed far too many teeth, like rows of sharpened razor blades. “Oh, not at all, Mr. Ramon, not any trouble to me at all.” ***_

 

       Jesse paused the video and stood up.  She shook her head and walked towards the door, “I can’t watch this, it just doesn’t feel right to do this. The rest of you can just go on without me.”

 

_*** Thawne grinned again and walked back to his desk where he leaned in close to Cisco. He handed him the second glass, the one Cisco hadn’t seen him pour. “Now then, how about a celebratory drink?”_

_Cisco awkwardly took the drink and grinned back up at Thawne. He clinked the glasses together. “To the particle accelerator.”_

_“To the particle accelerator, indeed.” ***_

 

       Barry frantically paused the video and turned back to the others. “Please tell me this video isn’t what I think it is?” He pointed back towards the screen and then looked back at the two with him. “Tell me that what I think is going to happen isn’t going to happen?” The heroically inclined speedster shook his head, “I can’t… I don’t want to finish watching this, this is just _wrong_.” Barry sat heavily in an empty chair with his head in his hands. “Good fucking God, I can’t even guess what Cisco had to go through these past few weeks.”

       “Did...did Thawne…” Caitlin couldn’t even get the words out, they sat like cold lead on the back of her tongue. “...did Thawne _rape_ Cisco? Oh God, how could we have not seen it? How did we not know?" She felt sick, hell, they all felt sick. 

       Yet none of them seemed to be able to process what they had learned.

       Harry stood and unplugged the USB drive, the computer screen going black. He didn’t say a word as he walked out of the room. He couldn’t believe what he had done, it was his fault Cisco had run off earlier. He shouldn’t have pushed the issue, shouldn’t have tried to confront Cisco with something he didn’t know how to handle.

       Caitlin and Barry stood and sat in their respective spaces, the horror dawning over their minds like the light of a sickly moon. Cisco needed their help, and he needed to be brought back home. They needed to find their friend, but they had no clue where to start.    
  



	17. The Angel and the Deadman

That noise, there it was again.

       There had been some sort of interference in Hartley's hearing the past two days. The sound was surrounding, all-encompassing, and he couldn’t block it out no matter what he tried to do. It was like a crashing ocean wave, slamming down upon the shore and pulling back to the seas just to rush back down. Over and over and over again for over the past days. It was almost the most annoying sound he had ever heard, but he currently was staying in an apartment next to multiple squalling children and their loud parents. So maybe it was not quite the most annoying sound he’d ever heard, but at the moment it was definitely a very close second.

       The frequency was almost tangible, a solid force running through the city, yet he couldn’t pick it up with any of his equipment. No abnormal readings on any tests. Almost like it didn’t exist, but it was most definitely there. The rest of the city and even Rogues didn’t seem to notice the sound. However, all the stray dogs and cats also seemed to have been affected, but not quite on the same level.

       Hartley shook himself out of the memories of the past and got back to the task at hand. He stood at the edge of Lawrence Hill’s, dressed in his Pied Piper gear, the hood pulled up over his head, hiding his face in deep shadows. His sonic gloves covered his hands and his wrists, tightly locking his hands in the metal and cloth. He felt safer dressed in his costume then he would have been in just his street clothes. Maybe it was just a mental connection, a crutch, or maybe some sort of an imagined strength, but he did feel more secure as the Pied Piper.

       Hartley had tracked the possible source of the sound to a few blocks in Lawrence Hill’s. He really didn’t want to go into that part of town if he didn’t need to. The place had quite the negative reputation, and that reputation was one that he didn’t want to test and find out was true. He stood on the edge of the industrial and warehouse district, shuffling his feet in place, the souls of his shoes scuffing on the concrete. He pulled the hood of his costume, further deepening the shadows falling on his face. It was already getting cold out, the chill in the air contrasting against the warmth of the sunlight. Hartley really didn’t want to head into Lawrence Hill’s.  

       But that damn sound… he wasn’t sure he would be able to deal with it for more than he already had. It had been two days of the sound already, and it was already unbearable to live with, he couldn’t imagine another day with the noise. God, it was just awful to hear.

       And the noise wasn’t the only thing weighing on his mind the past few days. Just over two days ago Barry and the rest of team Flash had called the Rogues to say that Cisco was missing and that they needed to keep an eye out for him. They hadn’t told any of them why he had left and Hartley had some serious questions about what was happening down there at STAR Labs. Why had Cisco left? Why would Cisco leave without any sort of explanation? Hartley hated to admit this to anyone, but he was still worried. There was no way in hell that Cisco would be able to fend for himself in the city, he was a just too _nice_. He was nice to everyone. Back when he had first started at STAR Labs he had been nice, hell, even when Hartley had been a huge asshole and had tried his hardest to make him mad, Cisco had still tried to be nice to him the best he could.

       Hartley hunched his shoulders in on himself against the cold and started down the nearest street. He turned down the next alleyway, tracking the sound the best he could with his hearing alone.  Luckily it was still light out, streaks of the warm sun just beginning to pull back across the city streets. The further down the street he walked, the louder the sound was, resonating in his ears with every step he took into the darkness.

       Louder and louder, with every step forward he took the sound grew to a wild crescendo until he found himself standing outside of an abandoned warehouse. All the windows had been boarded up long ago, dirty and old magazines and newspapers cluttered the surrounding grounds. Wind ruffled the ancient and yellowed papers, dust twisting in tiny spirals. He paused and made sure he wasn’t being watched before he stepped forward once more. The moment he passed through the rusty fences surrounding the dirty building the noise suddenly stopped leaving nothing but silence in its wake. This was definitely the source of the sound but it was almost like there was some sort of barrier surrounding the building letting the noise out but nothing back inside its fencing.  

       Hartley stepped up to the front of the building and jiggled the handle of the front door. Unlocked. He opened the door and stepped inside. The warehouse was nothing but empty metal shelving on a wide concrete floor. A low buzz of electricity filled the huge warehouse and a cool breeze floated between empty shelves. Hartley walked down the stacks, he couldn’t hear the noise now, but he was definitely at the source of the sound, he just needed to find out was making it.

       There was something strange going on here, there shouldn’t be any electricity in this place, it had been shut down for a few years now after all of the accidents. The dust on the stacks was disturbed, almost as if someone had accidentally brushed up against it while walking past. Hartley pulled back his hood and took a closer look at his surroundings.

       Somebody was living here. Empty liquor bottles were trailed on the floor surrounded by protein bar wrappers, empty cans, and scattered bloody bandages. And was that moldy dog food? Whoever was staying in here must have seen some hard times recently. A path of blood drops and muddy footprints lead towards the back corner of the warehouse floor.

       And there in the back corner, that had to be the source of that frequency. It looked like some sort of home computer setup. A heap of junked computers and laptops cobbled together with about six computer towers and over four cracked monitors connected to two rusty satellite receiver dishes. Whatever it was it looked like it was collecting information for something. Hartley peered at the monitors, hoping to glean some sort of information out of it. There was a map of the city and some sort of numerical overlay updating every few seconds. No go, it just looked like nonsense to him.

       Beside the machine sat even more liquor bottles, a coffee machine with a cracked pot, a half dozen cans of spray paint, an old pile of bloody bandages and a ratty, sagging couch. There were guns sitting on the couch cushions and a blood streaked metal baseball bat was propped up against the side. A box full of shotgun shells and bullets in front of the couch and a bulletproof vest next to it. Tactical gloves, multiple weapons holsters, knives-   

       A low growl undercut Hartley’s investigation. He turned around to see a dog, a scarred and cut up beast of an animal, wide set shoulders and heavy muscle. It was a mess, one missing ear, a half blind eye and missing teeth and bandages wrapped around its injured hind leg. It looked to be some kind of Mastiff Pitbull mix, tan fur with darker patches. The dog snarled angrily and advanced a step. Hartley backed up and stumbled over an empty bottle.

       The dog barked, keeping its distance but still barking up a storm. Each time Hartley tried to move from where he had fallen the dog barked again. From across the room and behind all the empty shelves drifted a calm reply.

       “Hulk, why are you barking?” That voice… why was it so familiar? “Calm down out there!”

       Hartley wildly gestured his hands at the dog, hoping it would calm down. “Shhh, don’t do that. Shhhh.”

       The dog, Hulk, continued to bark loudly, circling Hartley as it did. Hartley raised his fingers to his lips in a * _hush_ * gesture. “Shh, come on boy, be quiet!” The dog kept on barking as Hartley protested, drowning out his words. "Just calm down!” Hartley tried to sit up, but the dog just continued barking.

       “Hulk?” The voice was getting closer now. “Why are you barking now? I’m pretty sure I already fed you!” From around the corner walked a familiar figure clad in a black leather jacket and bloody camouflage pants. The man looked down and cut his own sentence short as the dog leapt to their side. “Hulk wh-”

       The man stopped dead in his tracks, his bandana pulled down around his neck and the ever present goggles were resting up on his forehead. His expression was strangely blank, carefully controlled to a level Hartley had never seen. “ _Hartley_?”

 _“Cisco?”_ Hartley couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice, “what…you’ve been missing for... _you’re_ the vigilante?” Cisco couldn’t be the vigilante, it just didn’t make sense! The vigilante seemed to have no problem killing people and Cisco was just so _nice!_ Hartley gaped in surprise, thoughts running parallel to themselves. Cisco couldn’t be the vigilante, but when he thought about it, Cisco had been gone missing just before the first appearance of the clad in black vigilante, but Hartley just couldn’t believe it. It just wasn’t possible.

       Cisco just continued to stare down at Hartley, an expression of surprise just beginning to dawn on his face. “...you’re not supposed to be here.” His voice was hoarse, and Cisco just looked so damn tired, over five days worth of stubble growing, darkening his jawline and the dark circles and bags under his eyes betrayed just how tired he really was. Hartley wrinkled his nose, Cisco smelled like alcohol, blood, and vomit. Cisco’s expression read as a little confused or maybe just nauseous, and he asked, “how did you find me?”

       Hartley incredulously stared back, _“that’s_ the question you’re going to ask? Cisco, you were missing for weeks before you came back, and when you did come back you just disappeared again! And that was only two days ago! What the hell happened to you?”

       Cisco absentmindedly pet the head of the dog beside him, actively avoiding eye contact with Hartley. He knew Hartley couldn’t see how scared he really was, but he didn’t dare look him in the eye on the chance he might see. He faked bravado, putting on a show of pretending he didn’t care that Hartley was there. “I wasn’t missing, I’ve just been… I’ve been busy.”

       “You’ve been _busy??”_ Hartley couldn’t believe how nonchalant Cisco was being, why was he so calm right now? “Cisco, you disappeared and now I find out you’ve, what, you’ve been out there trying to be some sort of _hero_? People are worried about you!”

       Cisco scoffed and rolled his bloodshot eyes. “Haven’t you watched any of the news lately? I’m just a drunk, I’m not any kind of hero-”

       “Not a hero?” Hartley cut Cisco’s self-hating rant short. He hadn’t forgotten what Cisco had done for him, what Cisco had prevented. “Cisco, you saved me from…” He still couldn’t bring himself to say it, didn’t want to think about what might have happened. “You saved me that night, Cisco.”

       “Still, that doesn’t make me a hero, and if people were actually worried they would have done something about it when I first left.”

       “Why _did_ you leave?” Hartley pushed himself into a seated position, ignoring the dog glaring daggers at him from Cisco’s side. “Your friends all called, but nobody’s said why you left. What are you trying to run from?” The moment Cisco registered what Hartley had asked, he went pale and quickly shook his head. He couldn’t answer that last question; he still couldn’t think about it.  

       “They actually called? Whatever, it’s, it’s not important right now.” Cisco looked surprised and then immediately tried to brush off his feelings, but he couldn’t. He had an odd expression on his face, and his hands were shaking. Hartley realized that Cisco looked _afraid_. “Why are you here, Hartley?”

       From his position on the floor, Hartley pointed at the huge homemade monstrosity. “I heard the frequency from that _thing_ you built. Whatever that thing is it’s been messing with my hearing for the past two days.” Hartley used the nearest shelf for support and hauled himself to his feet. "What's it even supposed to be?"

       "Well, it's  _supposed_ to use my Vibe goggles to scan possible futures and other realities and extrapolate future crime reports, but it's just been a waste of time."

       "Well it's been ringing in my ears for days!"

       Hartley watched as Cisco fished around in his pocket, pulling out a stainless steel flask. Cisco shrugged and drank. “Not my problem, what do you want me to do about it?”

       “Well, _Cisquito-_ ”

       Before he could say another word Hartley was face to face with an irate Cisco, Cisco’s hands twisted in the collar of Hartley’s coat and Hartley’s back slammed up against the metal of the shelves. A clang rang through the warehouse, echoing off the high ceiling and long walls. The flask had dropped from Cisco’s hands with a loud clatter, spooking the dog away from the two men.

       Cisco bared his teeth and snarled out his reply, words twisted with anger. “ _Don’t_ call me that.” He frowned and twisted his hands further into the rough fabric. “Don’t you _dare_ call me that anymore. _Nobody_ calls me that anymore.”

       Cisco had a wild look in his eyes, the look of a man who had seen too much bloodshed and violence and didn’t mind taking part in it and didn’t mind taking part in it again, right here, right now. His hands were shaking and his breathing was heavy. The whiskey on his breath stung Hartley’s nose with each breath Cisco took, and Cisco’s shoulders and chest were heaving from the effort.

        Something was seriously wrong, Cisco was miles away, sure he saw Hartley, but he wasn’t _seeing_ Hartley, he just saw another obstacle he had to deal with. Hartley tried to stay calm and didn’t let his fear show on his face. He lifted his own hands, slowly peeling off the sonic gloves and placing them on the shelf behind him. He turned his hands, showing that they were now empty of any kind of weapons. “Cisco? You’re alright, I’m not here to fight you. It’s okay.”

       Cisco shook his head, something Hartley had said seemed to have gotten through to him, but it wasn’t for the best. “ ‘m not weak, I’m not weak.” Cisco shook his clenched hands for emphasis, shoving Hartley further into the metal shelving, rattling the bars. “I’m not weak… I’m not..” Cisco trailed off, rage once again replacing the flash of confusion that had crossed his features.

       Hartley placed his hands on top of Cisco’s own, gently unclenching them from his collar. “I’m not going to fight you Cisco.”

       Slowly, Cisco detangled his hands from the rough fabric of Hartley’s costume. “I’m, I’m sorry.” Cisco backed away slowly, hands still twitching with misdirected rage. Confusion was written on his face and he continued to back away, shoulders hunched in defeat. He shuffled over to the dirty couch and sat down slowly, his hands still shaking. Cisco held his face in his hands and shook his head, shoulders still hunched and his breathing slowing down to normal. “I’m sorry,” his voice was muffled behind his shaking hands, but Hartley could still hear him. Could still hear the soft fearful tremor in his voice. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that, I should have tried harder, I shouldn’t have-

       Hartley cut Cisco’s rambling sentence off before it could get any worse. “No, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed you.” An awkward silence fell over the two of them, punctuated with quiet beeps from the machine on the floor. “Are you…” Hartley cleared his throat and dropped his gaze from the man huddled on the couch. He wanted to ask if Cisco was alright, but no matter how he phrased it, it just seemed insincere. This hadn’t been what he had been expecting. He didn’t have any way of knowing that Cisco would be here, didn’t have any way to tell that he was the vigilante. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was going to find when he came out here looking for the source of the noise, expecting it to be maybe some kind of radio transmitter, but this entire thing had just spiraled out of control so much faster than he could keep up.  

       Cisco looked more and more uncomfortable with every passing second, his leather jacket creaking with each small movement. He stood suddenly, taking off his leather jacket in a single fluid movement, carefully hanging it over the back of the couch. Hartley raised a hand to hide his look of surprise as he gaped at the layers of bloodstained bandaged wrapping the other man's arms from his wrist to shoulder. The bandages disappeared up under Cisco’s red shirt sleeves, but it was obvious just how much further they went.

       What the hell had happened to him? Every single inch of both his arms were covered in the bandages and Hartley just couldn’t pull his eyes away from the macabre sight. He knew what those bandages most likely meant, he’d been close to doing that himself, he just never thought that Cisco could ever think to do that.

       While Hartley thought, Cisco settled back down on the couch; his shoulders slumped, and his head hung low. He gripped his arms, indenting the blood-stained fabric. His chest rose and fell slowly in time with his shallow breaths. He spoke quietly, voice hoarse and barely rising over a whisper, “you’re not going to ask any more questions? Nothing on your mind, no big thoughts you need to get out?”

       Hartley shook his head, hand still raised, covering his look of surprise. “No, no, I don’t think I should.” He really didn’t think he even could bring himself to ask; Cisco just looked so broken, and he didn’t want to make the damage any worse than it was already. Cisco seemed a little relieved, glad not to be asked any invasive questions about his life.

       A few moments had passed in silence before a rueful smile played across Cisco’s lips, and he leaned back, staring at the warehouse ceiling. He snickered a little before speaking, “I never thought I’d get to see you go this long without being an asshole, Hartley.”

       Hartley knew Cisco was just trying to hide his real feelings by making jokes, trying to cope with whatever had happened to him, but Hartley couldn’t, hell, he _wouldn’t_ point that out. So instead he laughed a little and sat on the opposite end of the old couch. “God, you’re right. Why was I such a jerk to you back then?” While he was busy speaking he didn’t notice at first how Cisco was edging away from him, leaning into the arm of the couch. But when he did notice he continued talking calmly, not wanting to make Cisco more anxious than he already seemed to be. “I thought the entire world revolved around me, boy was I wrong.”

       When Hartley didn’t appear to be a threat Cisco visibly relaxed, releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Cisco settled back into the couch, arms still crossed in obvious discomfort and a fake smile plastered on his face. “Yeah, you really were.”

      Hartley glanced over at Cisco, once again taking in how awful he looked. “Hey, Cisco?”

       “What?” Cisco avoided his gaze, instead actively continuing to stare at the ceiling. He subtly tightened his grip on his bandaged arms, fresh spots of blood spreading on the already stained fabric. “What do you want?”

       Hartley frowned at the new blood stains; he knew this was a bad idea, but he continued with his question. “Are you,” it still sounded insincere, but he needed to ask anyways. “Are you alright?” He paused, watching Cisco as he spoke, “hell, I know that the answer is going to be no, but I still need to hear _you_ say it.”

       It wasn’t Hartley that needed to hear Cisco say the words, but it was Cisco himself that needed to hear it. Cisco needed to admit that he wasn’t alright, he couldn’t keep denying this, it wasn’t healthy.

       Cisco continued staring at the ceiling, “I’m fine.”

       “Cisco, you’re not _fine_ , just look at yourself!” Hartley wasn’t sure why he cared so much, but he knew that he couldn’t stand to see Cisco like this. “Hell, just look around you, _none_ of this can be called fine!”

       Cisco just shrugged, “looks fine enough to me.” He couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Hartley; he just didn’t care anymore. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Nothing mattered, why should what he thought be any different?

       Hartley just stared at the other man on the couch, “I’m pretty sure you can’t be a good judge on what’s fine, Cisco, and yes, it does matter!”

       “I don’t see why it matters so much to you and I don’t really care why it does.”

       Hartley felt as if cold water was flooding his veins, Cisco really didn’t care about himself. What the hell had happened to him that made him think this? He may not know what had happened to him, but he knew he had to do something, anything, to help his old enemy. His voice rising barely over a whisper, he made a promise he hoped he could keep.

       “Cisco, I don’t care why you feel like this, but I swear to any god that’s listening that I’m going to help you get better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this chapter, I'm just really, really, drunk right now and this is what happened because of it. Half of a bottle of rum (coconut rum with rambutan soda, it was good, yes, very good. And fizzy.) in my system and this is what I created. Fuck, I'm dead drunk again and I'm so sorry. G-d, I'm so drunk. Sloppy, stinking, dizzy, drunk. And I'm sorry, I'm an alcoholic. Well, not so sorry, but I'm still an alcoholic.


	18. There are no Truths in my Convictions

       It’s been a few hours since Hartley made his whispered promise, and in that time Cisco has all but refused to acknowledge him again. He’s been avoiding his gaze, and each time Hartley tried to speak to him he would cut him off. Hartley’s not sure why, but it might be because Cisco simply doesn’t believe that he’s _worth_ helping and that makes helping him all the more important.

       “Cisco?” Hartley was sure that he wouldn’t be answered, but it didn’t really matter to him. “Your arms…” He didn’t want to pry, but the bloody bandages were covered in growing spots of fresh blood. “You’re bleeding, do you want me to take a look?” Hartley pushed up his glasses, once more throwing into sharp relief just how awful Cisco looked.

       “Why not, man? Not like you can do anything that can make it any worse than it already is.” Cisco shrugged and rolled his eyes as he began unraveling the bandage on his right arm, pushing the cloth down his arm, revealing sliced and tattered skin barely being held together with thin stitches. Blood was seeping from where some of the stitches had been torn, and small drops of red immediately started rolling down his destroyed skin, dripping onto the dirty couch.

       Hartley stared in shock at the state of Cisco’s arms, why would he do this to himself? He leaned in closer, noticing that while most of the cuts were stitched with medical precision, some were simply wrapped up in gauze with the ends tucked in and taped off. The deepest and longest of the cuts were lining Cisco’s shoulder, climbing towards his deltoid muscle, stacked up in a perverse ladder. Cisco avoided making any kind of eye contact as Hartley stared in shock, cataloging each cut that he saw. There was no way that they would heal without scarring, and there was no way that those future scars could be mistaken for anything other than what they really were.

       “Why wou…” Hartley knew it wasn’t his place to ask, but he still needed to know why. What had happened since he had last seen Cisco? He needed to know what had gone wrong. “What happened to you Cisco?” He reached out slowly, placing his hand gently on the destroyed skin, feeling the raised edges of stitches and the solid ridges of scar tissue. There were thick scars on his forearms, the first one of them a mangled mess, the rest of them a sort of twisted perfection when compared to the original.

       Cisco flinched as Hartley’s fingertips made contact with his skin, he hadn’t expected any of this to happen. Almost nobody had touched him without violence in so long… He hadn’t even been awake when Caitlin had stitched up his arms, and Dante had been the only one who _wanted_ to be near him while in that time back at the labs. The others had just acted like he would break if they even looked at him. Cisco still said nothing; he was barely able to stand the touch of another person, much less answer questions about what had happened to him.  

       Hartley carefully ran his hand over the raised scars and stitches, not wanting to hurt the other man more than he had obviously been already. “Cisco? What are you trying to run from? What is it that you’re trying to forget?”

       Cisco anxiously bit his lip, his eyes downcast. He couldn’t tell Hartley, hell; he couldn’t even admit it to himself. He wasn’t weak, he knew that, but he still couldn’t let anyone see what he was hiding from. “Nothing, I’m not hiding from anything.”

       “Then why did you do this to yourself?” Hartley subconsciously tightened his grip on the other man's arm. As long as he was holding on Cisco couldn’t fall any further down the dark path he was on. “Why don’t you want me to help you?”

       Cisco scoffed and yanked his arm out of Hartley’s grasp. “Why the fuck should you care, you’re not my friend.” He crossed his arms again, ignoring the blood coating his fingertips. “The hell are you doing trying to help me? I don’t need your _help_.” Cisco spat out the word _‘help’_ as if it were toxic. He shook his head, “fuck it; I don’t need _any_ help!”

       “Why the hell can’t you see what’s right in front of you, Cisco?” Hartley jumped up off the couch, gesturing wildly as he walked. “You _do_ need help Cisco, take a look at yourself!”

       Cico rolled his bloodshot eyes and reached out a bloody hand to grab the nearest bottle of whiskey, unscrewing the lid and taking a long drink. “Will you stop pretending like you give a shit and let it the fuck go?” He drank again from the bottle and angrily continued. “God damn it, you’re trying to act like a fucking hero, well let me tell you something. I don’t need _saving_.”

       Hartley felt something inside of him snap, and he let his voice rise louder with each word. “Shit, Cisco, you need- you need _help!_ Dammit- don’t you get it?!” He kept tripping over his words in his anger, and he didn’t normally curse so much, but it just felt necessary for what he was saying. “Why the fuck won’t you let me help you? Can’t you, fuck, can’t you see that you’re _killing_ yourself?!”

       “And who _cares_?!” Cisco stood suddenly, less than an inch away from Hartley, his own voice rising louder than Hartley’s, the two of them almost shouting at each other in anger and frustration. “Who the fuck actually _cares_ if I live or die?” He laughed a little, almost hysterical in his anger. “Who cares? Not _you_ certainly! Not this city! Not my so-called _friends_! Fuck! The only person who would actually care is Dante, and he’s pretty sure I’m going to get killed next time I go out there!” Cisco angrily jabbed Hartley in the chest, forcing him back a step. “So don’t you try and act like you’re my _friend,_ don’t act like you’re trying to help me, I don’t need _you_ or your goddamn _pity_!”

       “I’m not pitying you; I just don’t want to see you get killed!” Hartley was confused about why Cisco was so mad; it was almost like he was putting on an act, pretending he was angrier than he really was. “You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t let someone _help_ you!”

       “I’m _fine_ , alright?!” Cisco was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Hartley. The anger in his words fizzled and evaporated, replaced with something close to longing and his voice dropped down to almost a whisper. “...I’m fine… Why the hell do you care so much about what happens to me? You shouldn’t care, don’t waste your time on me.”

       Hartley froze in place, understanding dawning on his features. He was beginning to understand just why Cisco was so angry. Cisco was obviously so _alone,_ needing someone to be there to care for him, but he didn’t know how to deal with someone _caring,_ so he was just trying to get him to leave.

       A few moments passed, the two of them standing awkwardly, still close together and both still breathing heavily from the argument. The tension in the air was like a thick blanket in the summer. Too hot and almost unbearable. The silence carried the sounds of the dog across the warehouse floor, and the noise of the city came through the walls, muffled but still there. Small clicks and beeps emanated from the homemade machine in the corner, the screens still showing a digitized map of Central City. Hartley stepped away from Cisco and walked towards the machine, trying to get his breathing back under control. He didn’t know why Cisco’s apathy had gotten him so worked up, but he just knew that he needed to do something about it. He turned back to Cisco; the other man had sat back down on the couch in obvious discomfort. He just looked so _broken_. Hartley pulled himself away from the machine and walked back to the couch; he was just going to have to deal with his own feelings later; Cisco needed his help first.

       “Cisco?” Hartley searched in his pockets for some kind of bandages. Cisco’s arms were still bleeding, the blood flow having slowed to an ooze. “You’re still bleeding, do you have anything for this?”  

       “Hmm? Oh, yeah sure.” Cisco rifled in his own pockets before leaning over and pulling a small first aid kit out under the bulletproof vest. Cisco popped open the kit and pushed a roll of bandages and some disinfectant wipes into Hartley’s hands and held his arm back out. “You wanted to take care of this, so go ahead. Do it, get it over with.”

       Hartley settled back on the couch, and he set to work carefully cleaning the blood away from the cuts. Cisco winced at the sting of the disinfectant and stared up at the ceiling. Hartley continued to clean away the blood and watched as the fresh blood stopped flowing. He reached for the first aid kit, grabbing some sterile gauze which he placed over the injury and he wrapped the cuts in fresh bandages. It definitely wasn’t as good a job as a professional would have done, but it would still work.

       He continued to hold Cisco’s arm long after was necessary, gently running his fingers over the cuts and scars. God, he just didn’t understand _why_. It just didn’t make sense; Cisco had always seemed so happy about everything he did. He continued to catalog every injury, not noticing how Cisco’s gaze had settled on him and how a soft smile had spread across his tired features.

       “...you done?” Cisco was quiet, no trace of his earlier anger in his tone. “I’m gonna need that arm sooner or later.”

       “Uh, yeah, sorry.” Hartley let go of Cisco’s arm and let it drop between them. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go out and fight people tonight.”

       Cisco shrugged, “I need to be in New Brighton in a few hours then head back into City Center, but that’s it for tonight.” He sighed softly and returned his gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t have to leave for a few hours, so we’ll just have to see what happens next, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long update time, I'm back on the job hunt while still working in my shit-hole job. I'm going grey with stress and I'm so pissed off about it.


	19. Not the only One

       It’s almost ten at night and it’s already dark. The wind curls across the streets, small flurries of dust forming with each new gust. Cisco gazes around himself, getting familiar with his surroundings.

       New Brighton Rail Station.

       The terminal is surprisingly clean for what’s about to happen here, with its whitewashed walls and its clean-swept floors. Large open space of the main station and empty ticketing booths. Quiet music resonated from the loudspeakers, and the hum of electricity buzzed somewhere in the walls. Squeaking wheels from the janitor's cart could be heard down on the opposite side of the station. The sounds were an odd backdrop to what was going to happen next. The next train wasn’t going to come through for another few hours. It was almost peaceful, but it wasn’t going to be for much longer.

       There’s probably going to be some bloodshed and more violence than is necessary, but it’s for the best, isn’t it? It usually is, but he always worried that one time he would go too far, lash out and cause more harm than good.

       Cisco sighed, standing with his shoulders hunched in a shadowed corner, loaded shotgun in hand. His baseball bat wouldn’t be good enough scare tactics. He’d only been here about thirty minutes, but he was already tired of waiting. He hadn’t been very comfortable with leaving Hartley in his warehouse hideout, but he had insisted on it. Apparently, he was convinced that Cisco would be coming back injured. He usually did come back with an injury, but it was mostly just minor scrapes and bruises. 

_‘Hah, as if.’_ The little voice in the back of his head had laughed at that. He didn’t see the point of arguing with him about any of it, he just didn’t understand why Hartley cared so much. Besides, he was way too sober to end up getting injured.

       God, being sober really sucked. His stitches were stinging and the knife wound in his leg was burning. Usually, he would have a good buzz going by now, but maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t drunk. He really did need to keep his wits about him while out here, he could always go back home- back to his hideout before getting blackout drunk.

       A few shadows moved across the concrete and Cisco tensed up, listening for his cue. Two voices echoed in the empty terminal, their argument even louder in the space. They would fight about their own view of things until one of them would lash out and try to _make_ the other see things their way.

       The squeaking of luggage wheels was followed by the sound of the steadily rising voices.

 

“Come on Lee, don’t do this!”

“Dammit, no! I’m not going to put up with your bullshit anymore! I’m going back to my parent's place.”

“Lee, you need to give me another chance!”

“ _No_ Carla, I can’t deal with this anymore! No more second chances!”

 

       Cisco took a deep breath as he heard the sound of footsteps and rustling cloth pass by him. Just a few seconds now. He always hated the waiting, hated the fact that he needed tangible proof before he could do anything to help people. Well, he didn’t necessarily _need_ any evidence, but he didn’t want to provoke any sort of legal action.

 

“Lee, you’re coming home right now!”

“No, I’m _not_! You’ve played me for the last time!” A loud sigh echoed through the empty terminal. “I just, I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t deal with this anymore. I just can’t deal with _us_ anymore.”

 

       There was a loud sound of a slap echoing through the empty terminal and Cisco stepped out of the shadows racking the shotgun as he walked. _“_ Now now, we can’t have this can we?”

       Next to the rows of empty benches, two people stood in the terminal, the younger man disheveled and holding his reddening cheek. The woman had a look of contempt on her face and their fists were clenched at their sides.

       “Who the hell do you think you are? This isn’t any of your business so fuck off!”

       Cisco smirked behind his bandana, “well this **is** public property so I guess it really is my business.” He kept the shotgun leveled at the floor and didn’t move, not wanting the situation to escalate any further than it already had. “Now, how about you back away?”

       “Gah, whatever.” The woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, an air of hatred rolling off her in waves. She sneered and turned on her heel, stalking off out of the terminal, “keep him if you want. He’s not worth the trouble.”  

       Cisco let off a round into the smooth concrete, _“_ now, now, you’re not **leaving** are you?” He raised the shotgun and leveled it at the woman's head. _“_ I’ve got one more shot in this and I don’t really want to have to use it. Too much of an echo in here.” Cisco took a step forward, “So instead, you’re going to go down to the police station and turn yourself in for that little ‘premeditated murder’ you had planned out.”

       “How did you…” ‘Carla’ turned back, confusion and anger written across her face. “How are _you_ going to know if I do this?”

 _“_ Oh, believe me, I’ll know.” Cisco lowered the shotgun, “Now get the fuck out of here you psycho bitch.” He turned back to the other man in the terminal, the woman's rapid footsteps fading into the distance. She would go the police department and turn herself in. Luckily the few cameras in the terminal would provide enough evidence to back up her own statement. Jail time 5 to 15 years for first-degree premeditated murder.

“You alright?” Cisco holstered his shotgun and stepped forward to the other man. He switched off his voice modulator and lifted his goggles. “What’s your name?”

       “Lee.” Lee grabbed the handles of his luggage and pulled them against his side. “...thank you for helping me.” He stared down at his shoes and rubbed the red handprint on his cheek. “It’s not the first time she’s done this, but I just can’t take it anymore.”

       “You shouldn’t have to, you deserve better.” Cisco shuffled awkwardly in place and cast his gaze around the terminal nervously. He didn’t usually stick around afterward, but he had a feeling this person really needed someone to talk to. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

       Lee sighed and sat on the closest bench, pulling his luggage close with him. “I know that, but it’s just… I dunno, I never thought that I deserved more than what I already had.”

       Cisco frowned behind his bandana, he knew what they meant. That feeling that you somehow deserved what happened to you. The feeling that settles in your stomach and lingers on the edges of your mind whispering that you don’t deserve anything better. Cisco sat across from the other man, hand resting on the shotgun. Even though he knew nothing would happen he was still on edge.

       Lee continued to speak, painting a story of years of emotional manipulation. Half an hour passed and a shrill whistle jolted the two of them out of their conversation.

       “Well, that’s my train,” Lee smiled softly, standing and pulling his luggage with him. “Thank you for everything. You know…” He looked troubled and then brightened up again. “You might think you deserve what you’re doing, but one day someone will help you too.” Lee turned on his heel and stepped over to the train, disappearing into its open doors.

       Cisco turned his back on the train and walked off, strangely happy for what he was doing. He rolled his shoulders and set off towards the west side of town at a brisk pace. He still needed to get to the middle of City Center within the hour.


	20. Don't Let Me Down Gently

       Everything was spinning, Cisco was almost sure he had a concussion from earlier in the fight. A few solid hits had rattled him more than he would admit and the pain was mounting with every second that passed. He’d managed to knock the knife out of the man's hand, but he just couldn’t focus with the pain. Something pulled his attention away from the growing pain in his head. The flash of silver metal glinting in the dim alley lighting as the criminal raised a loaded .45.

       The knife alone he could have dealt with, but shit, they had a gun too?!

       Cisco ducked and managed to dodge the first few shots, the bullets ricocheting off the cold brick walls behind him. Once. Twice.

       Cisco fumbled with his baseball bat as he tried to switch it out to his shotgun. He dodged a third and a fourth bullet before he heard the fifth gunshot ring in the small alleyway. Desperately he stepped to the side trying to dodge the last shot.

       Too little, too late.

       For the fifth time in the fight a bullet was fired and rocketed at top speeds towards Cisco, but unlike the others, this time, it connected.

       The bullet slammed into the kevlar vest, and even though it didn’t go through the vest it still carried the entire force of the bullet, throwing Cisco back a few feet with the force of the blow. Cisco saw stars of pain explode in his vision as he rolled across the asphalt. He staggered back to his feet as fast as he could, blindly swinging the baseball bat wildly at his assailant, praying that he could win this.

       A fist connected with his face and he could already feel the bruising. Blood was seeping into the fabric of the bandanna and rolling in drops down to his shirt collar. He couldn’t afford to do anything about it, though, he needed to keep fighting, he had to get out of this alive.

       Fuck, he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the fight. He’d been too confident that he knew what would happen. Too certain of his actions.

       He swung again, putting all of his strength behind the swing. This time, the bat connected with his attacker’s jaw, knocking them down into a useless heap on the asphalt with one strike. Cisco panted, each breath bringing a fresh wave of pain rolling in his chest. He released the bat and dropped to his knees in the same motion. The attacker was out cold, and their attempted victim had fled the moment bullets had started flying.

       Cisco clutched at his chest, he pulled down his bandana, hoping to make it easier to breathe yet he was still unable to draw a full breath. Another wave of pain laced with nausea rolled over him and he tried his hardest to keep from being sick. It felt as if every nerve of his body was on fire and as if his chest had been crushed. He was sure he had at least one cracked rib, and he would be bruised down to the bone for weeks to come.

       He tried to stand before doubling back over and vomiting on the cold asphalt. Definitely a concussion. He staggered back to his feet and grabbed his baseball bat. Cisco tried in vain to walk forward before pain sent him tripping over his feet and falling back against the brick wall behind him. He shook his head, trying to focus and get back on his feet. Body wracked with pain and head spinning, Cisco grabbed at the corners of the rough bricks in the wall, trying to pull himself up.

       Success at last.

       Cisco swayed on his feet and stumbled forward, and with shaking hands, he zip-tied the criminal’s own hands behind their back and left his trademark graffiti tag next to their unconscious form.

       He backed away from his handiwork, he needed to get out of here and needed to do it fast. The cops were already on their way and would be here soon, you can’t exactly let off five rounds within city limits and have nobody hear you. Especially in the middle of the city, and especially not when you’re this close to the police station.

       Stumbling and tripping over his own feet, Cisco set off back towards the warehouse, leaving the dark alleyway behind him. The sun would be up in a few hours, he had to get back. He panted as he walked, still unable to draw in a full breath. Sirens wailed in the distance and he hobbled forward a little faster, each movement accompanied with a stabbing pain in his head, his sternum, and his ribcage.

       He was actually moving a bit quicker than he had thought he would be able to in his condition, yet the sounds of sirens were still growing louder as he fled the crime scene. Cisco ducted into the shadowy doorway of the nearest building and watched three CCPD squad cars rush by, headed back towards the abandoned scene. The moment they passed him by, Cisco all but sprinted away in his desperation to escape back to his warehouse hideout. He passed through an empty lot, actively attempting to ignore the pain growing in his chest with each step.

       Before he knew it, he was stumbling past the chain-link fence of the warehouse, tunnel visioned in on his goal. Dust rose in thin clouds behind him as he slowly trudged up to the rusty door. He just wanted to drink the pain, both mental and physical, away.

       Wait. Something wasn’t right. Cisco stopped, his hand resting on the door handle, the other still clutching his chest. He furrowed his brow, knowing that he was forgetting something. He cursed under his breath the moment it hit him, he’d completely forgotten that Hartley was still in his hideout.

       Cisco coughed, ribs almost creaking with the force, he could taste the metallic sting of his own blood dripping down the back of his throat and he could feel the blood drying on his face. He frowned and shifted uncomfortably where he stood. He couldn’t let Hartley see him like _this_ , he’d already seen his scars and Cisco couldn’t deal with another round of… whatever the hell had happened earlier. The arguing and then the whole _touching_  incident had just been too much for him. Sure, he had craved the contact, hell, he had even _wanted_ someone, just about anyone at this point, to be there for him. But this was… this was just too much, far too soon.

       He sighed heavily, ignoring the pain, and pushed open the door, hinges screaming from lack of oil. Cisco winced, knowing there was no way in hell Hartley hadn’t heard him come in the door. Walking through the empty shelves towards the back corner, he heard Hartley before he saw him.

       “Cisco?”

       Cisco tried to talk but he couldn’t get the words out, instead, he just continued trudging towards the back corner. The moment he stepped into the dim lights of the back, Hartley leapt to his feet, face filled with concern.

       “Good Lord! What happened to you?!”

       Cisco only shrugged, untying and peeling the blood-soaked bandana away from his face and tossing it aside with a wet and bloody * _slap_ *. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. Another wave of pain washed over him and he all but tore the vest away from himself, dropping it on the floor before doubling over from nausea which quickly turned into a coughing fit. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the cold floor, wheezing with each breath he tried to take.  

       A hand shaking his shoulder grabbed his attention and Cisco pulled off his vibe goggles, dropping them to the floor, to focus on Hartley’s look of panic. “Cisco! Cisco, are you alright?!”

       He coughed again, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. “...’m fine, don’ worry ‘bout me, _huevón,_ ‘m not weak.” Cisco spat another mouthful of blood onto the floor and he shook his head. “...’kay, maybe ‘m _not_ fine. Wanna, uh, wanna help me up?”

       Hartley carefully reached under Cisco’s arms and helped him stand before he toppled over onto the couch. He looked down into Cisco’s eyes, noticing for the first time the glazed over, blank stare. “Do you have a concussion?”

       Cisco shrugged and rubbed the bruise that had already formed on his chest. “Probably, I got hit pretty hard. And a lot more than once.”

       “You need to go to the hospital.” Hartley crouched down on the concrete floor and picked up the bulletproof vest, noticing for the first time the flattened bullet wedged in the protective layers of kevlar and metal. “I can’t do anything, you need to see a doctor!”

       Cisco chuckled darkly, “yeah, how about _no_? I don’t like hospitals and I don’t like the idea of the cops being told where I am.” He grimaced and leaned back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “I‘ll be fine, just need to take some painkillers.” He mumbled the next sentence under his breath, but Hartley still heard it. “... maybe get some Vertigo to go with it…” Cisco groaned with the pain, blood still dripping down his face, staining his shirt and the couch.

       Hartley stood, dropping the vest back with a dull thud. “No Cisco, you need to see a doctor! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!” A thought sparked in his mind, he knew someone who was basically a doctor, and they wouldn’t go to the police. “Wait just a minute…”

       “Not a problem, Hartley.” Cisco laughed a little, almost hysterical from the pain and his concussion, “don’t think ‘m gonna be going anywhere for a while.” He continued staring at the ceiling, absentmindedly scratching his bandaged arms. “I need a drink…” Cisco pulled his flask out of one of his pockets and unscrewed the lid.

       Hartley pushed up his glasses and rummaged in his costume pockets for his cell phone. He had to make a call and had to do it soon. Shawna Baez might not be a doctor, but she was the closest that the rest of the Rogues could get without having to worry about law enforcement being brought down on their heads. Hartley dialed the number, keeping an eye on Cisco as he did so.

       One ring. Hartley anxiously tapped his toe inside his boot, watching with worry as Cisco drained half of his flask in one go.

       Two rings. Come on, pick up the phone Shawna. Hartley glanced back at Cisco who waved at him before flopping back onto the couch and continuing to drink from his flask.

       Thr- _“Hello?”_ Shawna sounded tired, almost as if she’d just been woken up. He hoped she’d be willing to help after he woke her up, she really did value her sleep.

       “Shawna, it’s Hartley.” He walked over to the couch and pulled the flask out of Cisco’s hands and pouring it out on the floor. Cisco rolled his eyes and flopped back on the couch, ignoring Hartley as he talked.

_“Wha… Piper? Do you have any idea what time it is?”_

       “Uh, yeah, yeah I do.” Hartley wasn’t actually sure what time it was, but he did know that it was later than he should have been calling.

_“Oh, well… what do you want?”_

       “Well, I need some help.”

 _“What?”_ She sounded worried, and Hartley heard the telltale sound of teleportation in the background. _“Where are you, are you okay?”_

       “Yeah, I’m fine, but Cisco isn’t.” Hartley sighed, running his free hand across his face, pacing as he talked. “He’s in pretty bad shape, definitely has a concussion, possibly a broken nose, and maybe a few broken or cracked ribs.”

       There was another sound of teleportation in the background of the call. _“Wait, Cisco? Cisco Ramon? The little science geek who works for the Flash?”_

       Hartley laughed softly, “yeah, that’s the one.”

_“What the hell are you doing playing around with the hero’s helper?”_

       “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” And Hartley wasn’t sure he did want to tell her, hell, he wasn’t even sure why he had stayed when Cisco had left. Something had just seemed _off_ so he had stayed.

_“Sure, whatever, where the hell are you anyway?”_

       “Lawrence Hills-

_“Lawrence Hill’s?! Are you suicidal?!”_

       Hartley chose to ignore the second question, her worry was justified. “Yeah, we’re out in Lawrence Hill’s, in the abandoned warehouse next to the newspaper distributor.”

       Shawna sighed overdramatically before talking and Hartley could almost hear her roll her eyes. _“Fine, I’ll be there in less than five minutes, see you soon, Piper.”_

       The line went dead and Hartley shoved his phone back in his pocket before turning back to see Cisco trying to pull his shirt off over his head without succeeding. Hartley stared as he saw lean muscle interrupted with visible ribs and vertebra and his heart wrenched when he realised just how _thin_ Cisco had gotten. He just wasn’t taking care of himself, how had he not seen it earlier? He really did need to go to the hospital, he was probably malnourished. Hartley frowned as he lost himself in thought, and he didn’t realise that he was still staring.

       The moment Cisco noticed Hartley’s gaze was on him he immediately yanked his shirt back into place, an indescribable look on his face. “What?” he asked sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you looking at?!”

       “...nothing.” Hartley shook his head and walked back to the couch. He sat down, leaning back and staring at the door. “Nothing at all.”

       Cisco sighed, even with the concussion he knew Hartley wasn't saying something, but he was just too tired to argue. Maybe later. "Sure, whatever you say Hartley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quit my shit hole job, but it's a good thing I've already got another one lined up. G-d, adulthood sucks. Never grow up.


	21. Where the People Are

       Right now Shawna wanted to punch Hartley right in his smug face for waking her up, but she kept the urge hidden behind an angry glare and a bag of very legitimately acquired medical equipment. What? You can’t prove that they had been stolen, so just shut up, what are _you_ going to do about it? That’s right, you’re not gonna do jack shit!

       But that’s not the point right now, the point is that Hartley had asked her for help and she had to help him. She might not have been able to become a doctor, but she still held herself to the Hippocratic Oath. Still wanted to help people. But when she’d shown up she hadn’t expected _this_ , yeah, working with the Rogues she’d seen some serious injuries, but when she saw the condition Cisco was in she hadn’t even known where to start.

       Injuries stacked upon older injuries, some were not so bad but each one worse than the last. It was almost overwhelming, but this was what she had wanted to do, wasn’t it? Helping people, making a difference. She just wasn’t sure if she even _could_ do anything to help in this case. You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped.

       Sure, you can clean their wounds, patch them back up, but the moment they have the chance to they’ll just go out and get themselves hurt again. Back in med school, she’d learned of cases like Cisco’s, and she’s never understood _why_ people did it. Sure, she knew the feeling of helplessness and she was no stranger to emotional pain, but she never understood why people would take it into their own hands.

       “Why do you do this to yourself, Cisco?” Shawna knew what the scars on his arms meant, and she knew it would one day be the death of him. She cleaned and wrapped up the last improperly cared for cut and moved on to the split lip and bloody nose. “What are you trying to run from?”

       Hartley fidgeted on the opposite end of the couch, he knew Cisco didn’t respond well to questions, he’d seen that firsthand. He didn’t want to see him get angry again.

       “Well…” Cisco avoided eye contact, knowing that everything he was feeling was still laid bare on his face, readable to whoever looked at him. “More than you know,” he shrugged, “you know, it’s not so much trying to run than just trying to forget.” He sighed softly, there was something about being so close to someone that just made him want to talk about his problems. Or maybe it was the alcohol in his system that was doing that… yeah, it was probably the alcohol. “Recently I just, I learned something… something about myself that I wish I could forget.”

       Shawna finished cleaning the blood away from Cisco’s face, she hadn’t expected an actual answer to her questions, but she just silently nodded and set up the rest of her equipment. Cisco was going to need more than a few stitches before she was done with him, she hadn’t seen the cut on his forehead until she’d cleaned off all the blood. She knew the only reason he was so talkative was because of some sort of alcohol, sitting this close meant that she could smell it on his breath, but that didn’t mean that what he was saying didn’t need to be said.

       “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do…” Cisco cast his eyes downward, he was saying much more than he had wanted to, especially with Hartley sitting on the opposite end of the couch. There was no way in hell he could say more about what had happened, but he _could_ talk about what he was doing out on the streets. “I just want to keep what happened to me from happening to anyone else. I’ve been out there almost every night, trying my damndest to make an impact. Trying to make a point. Apparently, I’m not very good at it.” He huffed out a bitter laugh and rolled his eyes. “I wanted to die when I learned what had happened, looks like I’m making that wish come true, huh?”

       On the opposite end of the couch, Hartley frowned, he didn’t know what had happened to Cisco, but he was trying to put the pieces together, few that there were.

       “Well, I don’t know about all that,” Shawna tried her best to keep the stitches even, but Cisco’s talking wasn’t making it easy. “You’re the one out there saving people, and to most of us, it seems like you’re doing a damn good job. I don’t know what it is that drives you, but you need to take care of yourself before you can take care of others.”

       “...I just don’t see the point of it all,” Cisco sighed, this was something he had barely started to admit to himself, and now here he was, spilling secrets to an old enemy. “I just don’t, I mean, I’m not worth saving.” He shrugged, ignoring the pain from his new stitches and he snuck a glance at the other man on the couch. He looked uncomfortable, almost as much as Cisco felt.  Cisco chose to ignore the little voice in his head that told him to stop, and he just kept talking. “And now the only thing that really gives me something to look forward to is getting drunk and beating the shit out of criminals.” He chuckled bitterly, “I’m not even good at it, I’m not a hero.” Cisco sighed, gazing down at his hands. “I’m not a hero, I’m just a criminal.”

       Shawna listened quietly, noticing how Cisco was hunching in on himself. He was trying to hide that chest injury, she should have known this was how it was going to be. “You’re not a criminal, Cisco. You’re more than that, you help people.” She shook her head and grabbed some more gauze and bandages from her bag. “Alright Cisco, we’re just about done here, I just need you to take off your shirt.”

       Cisco tensed up, hands tightening into fists. “No thanks, I’d rather not,” his voice was shaking and he knew it. “...I, I just can’t do that. Not with...”

       “I can’t see your injury with your shirt on.”

       “I know, but I just…” Cisco fiddled with the hem of his shirt, gaze jumping back and forth between Hartley and Shawna. He mumbled so quietly even while so close Shawna could barely hear, “I don’t want him to be in the room with me. I can’t, I don’t want anyone to _see_.” Fear tinged his voice and Cisco quietly continued, “I don’t want anyone else to see me without it. I just… I’m not weak, you know, I just can’t do it.”

       With his advanced hearing Hartley heard everything Cisco had said, and immediately had more questions than he could ever ask. But he couldn’t ask, he couldn’t let him know that he’s heard and he couldn’t make Cisco feel unsafe. So he feigned ignorance, sitting on the end of the couch and pretending he hadn’t heard anything.                                                   

       Shawna turned towards Hartley and raised an eyebrow, she knew that he’d heard everything that had been said. She pointed to the door, “Hartley, go outside.”

       Hartley stood slowly, his gaze locked on Cisco. He didn’t want to leave him like this, he didn’t want him to be scared.

       “Now, Hartley!” Hartley walked back towards the door, and Shawna turned her attention back to her patient. “Are you alright, Cisco?”

       “Yeah, I’m … I’m good.” Cisco closed his eyes and grasped the hem of his shirt, pulling the bloodstained fabric over his head. He held the shirt in front of himself keeping it as a thin barrier between himself and someone who used to be his enemy. “Just be quick about it, okay?”

       “Sure, just let me take a look.”

       Cisco dropped the shirt onto his lap, and Shawna gasped in surprise. His entire chest looked like one giant bruise, a sickening blend of purple and red and edged with yellow. “What the hell… what happened, or do I even want to know?”

       “It’s not that bad, just a Glock .45 millimeter at close range. Could have been worse.” Cisco shrugged, “I got what I deserved. I wasn’t paying attention, it’s my own fault. It’s not the first time I’ve been shot at, and it’s not anything I can’t deal with.” He tapped his foot anxiously and kept his gaze somewhere above Shawna’s left shoulder, “can I put my shirt back on?”

       “Hold on, I haven’t even gotten to see what’s going on with your ribs. Raise your arms to shoulder height and keep them there.”

       “Fine, just be careful.”

       Outside in the cold Hartley paced, he could hear everything they said inside the warehouse even without trying. He didn’t want to eavesdrop but his enhanced hearing made that impossible. Besides, he had so many questions he needed to have answered. Why did Cisco think he had deserved to be shot? What the hell had Cisco done that had gotten him shot at in the past? And why the fuck was he so adamant not to have Hartley see him without his shirt?

       Hartley pulled the hood of his costume back up, blocking out the wind chill as he lost himself in thought. The sun wasn’t quite up but it would be soon, the people in the city would be waking up and driving to work within a few hours. Maybe Shawna could help him convince Cisco to get out of the warehouse and back into town. Keeping to himself was just making him worse, Cisco was falling further and further down into the depths of humanity’s worst places and he needed help getting back out. Maybe he could stay with Hartley… No, bad plan Hartley, don’t do that, you’ve seen the way he deals with stress. But then again…Cisco needs someone to help him, and Hartley was more than willing to step up to the plate and do his part. He didn’t know why, but he felt a little bit responsible for how Cisco was feeling. Maybe it was because of how he had always treated him while at STAR Labs, maybe it was just because he had never thought that his actions could have negative repercussions later on in life. Whatever it was, he knew he needed to at least try and help.

       He continued to pace, wishing he had brought his sonic gloves with him, this just wasn’t a good place to be, even in the daylight hours. Hartley stopped, trying not to listen to the people in the warehouse behind him, instead focusing his attention outwards and listening to the sounds of the city. Cars driving on the main roads, trains in the distance, the sound of thousands of people going about their morning routines. The sound of the door of the warehouse squeaking opening behind him brought him out of his concentration.

       Hartley turned around to see Shawna standing in the doorway, a grim look on her face. She looked rattled, and she was shaking as if she’d been told something terrible. “You need to get him out of here, Hartley. If he doesn’t get help soon,” she trailed off, her silence saying more than any words could ever hope. “Just get him out of here, Hartley. Promise me that you’ll help him.”

       “What?”

       “He needs you to be there for him, and you need him. Just promise me, alright?”

       Hartley nodded, wondering what had been said that could affect Shawna in such a way. “I promise.”  

       Shawna smiled softly at Hartley’s promise, she nodded slowly and walked out of the building, and in an instant, she was gone, teleported away to wherever she could see. Wherever she was, she probably was trying to find someone else to heal and to help.

       Hartley slowly walked back through the open door, processing what he had just promised he was going to do as he was heading to the back corner, grabbing his sonic gloves off the shelves as he passed them. He needed to check on Cisco, but his mind was distracted, still turning over what had just happened in front of the warehouse. That conversation had just made everything so much more complex. How was he supposed to help someone when he didn’t even know why they needed to be helped in the first place? Hartley pushed his questions to the back of his mind the moment he saw Cisco lying across the couch holding a cold compress to his forehead and a wide grin on his face. His shirt was back on, but it was on backward and it was obvious that he either didn't know or he just didn't care.

       “Heey, Hartley!” Cisco waved and tried to sit upright, but he just fell back against the arm of the couch instead. “Shawna gave me some pain medication, and guess what?” He didn’t wait for an answer from Hartley before continuing with his rambling, “So, I actually do have a concussion! Just a minor one, so that's good, right?”

       “Well that is good news,” Hartley pulled on his sonic gloves and moved over next to the couch, trying to figure out how to convince Cisco to leave the warehouse. “It’s always good to not have a severe concussion.” Hartley paused and then continued. He might as well just get to the point already. “Cisco, you can’t stay in this warehouse.”

       “What? Why not?”

       “Well… it’s not a good idea for you to stay out here by yourself while recuperating!” Hartley kicked himself mentally, why couldn’t he just tell him that it was because he was a danger to himself and others? “Besides, um, I have an apartment out in City Center! Yeah, it’s much safer, and warmer too!” Dammit, was that the most convincing thing he could come up with?

       Cisco frowned, this didn’t sound quite right, but the painkillers were starting to kick in and everything was getting all… _fuzzy_. “Well, if you think that’s a good idea… I’ll have to move the computer somehow, but yeah, why not? You know what, I'm just gonna take it down, it's not working right, anyways.” He pulled himself into a seated position and swung his feet over the edge of the couch and onto the floor. “I guess I’ll be staying with you then, Hartley!”

       Hartley tried not to let his doubt show as he helped Cisco to his feet and back into his leather jacket. “Alright then, I’ll just make a call then we’ll be on our way…” He wasn't sure why Cisco was suddenly so cheerful, especially after how he'd been before Hartley had gone outside. It was probably the drugs.

       Cisco collected his gear and started pulling apart the contraption in the corner, lost in his own thoughts and completely ignoring Hartley who was pulling out his phone and muttering quietly to himself under his breath. Hartley frowned as he dialed the number of the only person willing to drive out to Lawrence Hills. “God, I just hope I don’t fuck this up too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any of you fuckers ever mixed chai tea and rum? Just don't do it. You’d think it would be like spiced rum, but instead, it’s just a disgusting mixture that is the worst of both ingredients. It goes down gritty and comes back up dry. Don’t know how, but it does. So don’t mix those two together unless you're using vodka Kahlua and milk as well. But with my luck, that would be disgusting too.


	22. Back to the Beginning

       Now, Mick isn't exactly an expert with remembering things, but to the best of his memory, everything went a little bit like this:

  
       "What's that thing?"

  
       Cisco lifted an eyebrow and shrugged, tossing his bag into the car. "What do you mean? That's my dog." Cisco turned to said dog, trying to convince them to hop into the car. "C'mere Hulk, jump up!"

  
       "That thing ain't a dog." It was definitely a dog, but Mick didn't dare call it such, or it might get full of itself.

  
       "Hulk's a dog he's just... he's just a little beat up!"

  
       "That thing's not getting in my car." Mick crossed his arms, hoping he was making some kind of an impact. "It looks weird and smells like shit."

  
       "Well, your car smells like a dumpster fire behind a Chinese restaurant, and you don't look so great yourself," Cisco smirked, a little satisfied that Mick still had a black eye.

  
       "Whatever, Hartley asked for my help, but this is just too much."

  
       Hartley stepped up on the opposite side of the car and opened the passenger door. "Just let him take the dog, it's not a big deal, is it?" He raised an eyebrow, attempting to convey that it would just save time and effort to let Cisco take the dog with him. "Besides, Cisco already said that your car already smells and he was right. So just get in the car and let's get out of here."

  
       Mick rolled his eyes and opened the driver's door. "Fine, fine, just get in and shut up."

  
       The ride to the apartment was… it was weird. There’s just no other word to describe it. Odd didn't begin to cover it, and strange just didn't either and insane was just too harsh. Cisco didn’t remember much of the drive, drugs and alcohol should not be mixed, just a hint for later on. But what he did manage to remember was getting picked up at the warehouse in a car that smelled like old Chinese food and was being driven by a familiar pyromaniac with a pretty serious black eye that may or may not have been put there by Cisco himself. There wasn’t any conversation on the way, not unless you’re counting a few awkward attempts at small-talk from Hartley and Mick and more than a little bit of Mick glaring angrily at Cisco whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. So maybe it was both weird and uncomfortable.

  
       Mick hadn’t forgiven Cisco for the black eye, and he wasn’t likely to, it wasn’t something you just forget in a week, and he wasn’t very happy about having to drive this early in the morning. There had been more weapons than he had expected and then there was the dog. He hadn't wanted them to bring weapons in the car, too much of a risk, he hadn’t wanted them to bring the dog in the car either, but Cisco had refused to get in without either of them and well, Mick didn’t want a second black eye to match the first. The dog was weird looking and smelled like hot garbage, but somehow it didn't smell as bad as the car.

  
       By the time they had gotten to Hartley’s apartment, Mick had made up his mind. The dog might smell gross and look weird and just be gross in general, but they still needed a place to live, and Mick had his own safe house out in the outskirts of New Brighton. Sure there’s no yard, and it’s not the best of locations, but there's not any of the nosy and noisy neighbors you get further in the city. Besides, Hartley’s apartment was much too small for such a large dog, so Mick just had to take him with him. Just the right sort of thing to do, isn’t it? And maybe he could forgive and forget about the black eye, just give him some time.

  
Mick dropped the two off at Hartley's apartment and watched as they went inside before he drove off to his own place, new dog as his only company. Mick doesn't know or care whatever happened after that, he had his own business to attend to in his own home. 

  
       Hartley’s apartment is surprisingly bare, and the internet connection is slow. There wasn't much in the apartment in the way of comfort, just a few pieces of old furniture and an outdated laptop on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. It’s small, just the kitchen and living room combo, the minuscule bathroom, and one bedroom. The curtains in the living room are sun-bleached on one side, and motheaten on both, and the carpet has more than a few coffee stains on it. The neighbors were loud, and the sink in the kitchen just kept dripping in the background. But something about it was familiar.

  
       It was familiar in the sort of way that a cup of coffee in a new place on a cold morning is familiar. It doesn’t mean that it’s the same thing you’ve experienced before, but there’s just that certain something in the air that feels right, something that feels like coming home after a long time away. It’s a feeling that’s harder and harder to come by the older you are, and it’s always a surprise when you encounter it again.

  
       In Cisco’s drugged state he stumbled across the room, shedding his coat and shoes, dropping his bag full of equipment and his armful of weapons onto the floor. He managed to walk over to the small couch where he immediately sat down and curled up on the cushions. “Uh, Hartley. So I was, hey, are you listening, Hartley?”

  
       Hartley closed the door behind the two of them and walked into his kitchen, half listening to Cisco as he rummaged through the cabinets looking for something to make for breakfast. There in the top shelf, half a box of pancake mix and some instant oatmeal. Not great, but not too shabby. “Sure I’m listening, Cisco, what is it?”

  
       “I just… I know I haven’t said anything well, anything positive since you tracked me down, but I want you to know that I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me.” A soft sigh was muffled into the back of the couch, and Cisco continued, “I know that you’re worried I’m going to go out there and kill myself some night, but you shouldn’t be worried ‘bout me.” Cisco yawned quietly, the pain medication dulling his senses ad lulling him into a deep sleep. “...I’ll be fine, just you wait and see.”

  
       Trying not to let Cisco’s words affect him, Hartley busied himself in the kitchen pulling a frying pan and mixing bowl out of the cupboard and searching in his fridge for some eggs. He could have sworn he had half a dozen eggs in here just yesterday, ah, there they were, hidden behind the milk. Without reading the box, he set about mixing the ingredients together when suddenly he realized something. He did think that Cisco was trying to kill himself, but that wasn’t why he was helping him.

  
       Whenever he talked to Cisco, he was reminded of the people they both used to be before he was fired from STAR Labs. While Hartley had been arrogant, self-centered, and all in all, someone who he didn't like thinking about for very long, Cisco had just been so... happy. So full of light and positivity.

  
Hartley could try and deny it, but he had so many regrets about the things he had said and done in the past, almost more than most people have in their entire lifetimes. Guilt is a powerful motivator, and God, did he have some serious guilt. Maybe by trying to help Cisco, he was really just trying to help himself.

  
       He dropped the spoon he had been using to mix onto the countertop, and Hartley walked out of the kitchen, leaving the bowl of mixed batter on the counter. For some reason, he didn't feel like eating now. Was this really his only reason for trying to help Cisco? Had he even changed in the slightest over the years? No, there had to be another reason for this, he couldn't be that self-centered, could he?

  
       No, there had to be more to his reasoning. He couldn't let himself believe that that was his only motivator. Whenever he saw Cisco he just, he just felt like he needed to help him get back on his feet again. There had to be something else that he could do, other than just keep him from dying whenever he comes back beaten and bloody.

  
       A quiet whimper was muffled into the couch cushions, and Cisco turned over in his sleep. "fuck off... _¡Déjame en paz!_ It's Wells... nonono, it's not Wells, _itsnotwellsitsthawneitsfucking **thawne**_ " Cisco continued muttering in his sleep and curled in on himself, he slowly quieted back down his only sound quiet breathing, and the only movement was occasionally twitching. Something in his dreams that was more real than it should be.

  
       Hartley walked into his bedroom and picked up a blanket off his bed, walking back into the living room and tossing it over the sleeping vigilante on his couch. He sat in the chair next to the couch and grabbed his laptop. In his sleep Cisco had mentioned Wells, did he mean Harrison Wells? What did Wells have to do with Cisco's behavior?

  
       He needed some answers. And there was no way to ask Wells, and Cisco wasn't likely to answer his questions. He needed to do some research on his own.


	23. Maybe it's not too Bad

       Cisco jolted awake from a dream, or maybe a vision,  with too much detail, something about Earth 15 and murder, and he tried to roll over and go back to sleep but instead crashed onto the floor. Well, he hadn’t expected that. He leaped to his feet and immediately assumed a defensive stance only to realize the closest thing to a threat was Hartley Rathaway fast asleep in the chair next to him, laptop on his knees, still wearing his glasses and snoring softly. How did he not get woken up just now? Cisco stopped and stared as he slowly he pieced together his fuzzy memories of the past two days.  

       A loud knocking at the door shocked him out of his memories, and he shook his head. What’s he supposed to do with a houseguest? He’s not even supposed to be here. His breaths became quick and shallow, and Cisco cold feel himself starting to panic. Too much pressure, there was just too much pressure.    

       Again the knocking. Struggling to get himself back under control, Cisco took a few deep breaths and stepped out of the small living room grabbing his pistol off the floor on his way to answer the door. Can’t be too careful. Who the hell would it be at this time of day? What time was it anyway? His footsteps thudded on the floorboards as he walked, each step heavy with more than just his body weight. He was still wearing his boots.

       Cisco grumbled under his breath as he unlocked the door, keeping his pistol in hand. “I‘m coming, I'm coming. Jesus, calm your fucking tits.” He swung the door open quickly, loudly slamming it into the wall while raising his pistol to average head level. “Who is it?” he barked, hoping he could intimidate whoever was there. Looks like he was going to succeed at that.

       Outside the door was Leonard Snart, standing with a look of shock and confusion tinged with carefully masked fear on his face. “Well, this is truly an exciting development. I wasn’t expecting to see you here Mr. Ramon. Wasn't expecting the _gun_ , either, but surprises keep life interesting.”

       “Oh, it’s just you. Get inside before anyone sees you. And be quiet, Hartley’s asleep.” Cisco lowered the pistol and waved Snart into the apartment, closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” Cisco took a quick look at the visitor, trying to figure out why he was here. Snart wasn’t wearing his Captain Cold gear, and there was no sign of the cold gun. This wasn’t some sort of a heist offer, nor any other kind of criminal activity, so this was most likely a social visit. But why?

       “I could ask you the same question.” Snart leaned against the closed front door and frowned as he continued talking, “where exactly have you been Cisco? People have been looking for you.” He wouldn't say that he had been one of those people, and Cisco would pretend he didn't already know.

       “ _Really_? No fucking way.” Cisco kept his grip on the pistol, and he walked over to the window, peering past the curtains out into the sun-drenched cityscape. From what he could tell it was just past 10 am, he hadn’t been asleep that long. He glanced over at Hartley who was still asleep, unaware of recent developments. “Lots of people are out there looking for me; you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

       “Specific? Oh sure, it's just all of your friends and the entire police force. And most of my team too, the Flash showed up at my safehouse and demanded my help. Lots of dramatic crying and begging for help. You know how it goes.” Snart stepped into the small living room, carefully stepping over the pile of weapons and bulging duffel bag. “So, why are you here?”

       "It's a little too early for philosophical musings," Cisco quipped. "But give me some coffee and I might be able to help you with that." 

       Snart rolled his eyes, pretending the joke wasn't funny. "You know what I meant. What are you doing here, in Hartley's apartment?"

       Cisco rolled his eyes and gestured to himself, to the bandages on his arms and stitches on his forehead. “Are you kidding? Just take a look at me, I’m a fucking mess, and according to Hartley, I’m apparently on a path to destruction. I drink too much, fight too much, and I’ve only slept twelve hours all fucking week.” He sighed and stepped away from the window, dropping his pistol onto the coffee table with a clatter. Cisco raked his hand through his hair, fingers catching in the tangled and bloodstained locks. “And have you been watching the damn news lately? According to the media, I’m just a murderous drug addict with a drinking problem and zero morals. Every single channel is the same thing; I’m just a petty, worthless, criminal with no chance of redemption. Fucking waste of space. The entire city hates me, and well, I’ve got to agree with them.”

       “What the hell are you talking about, kid?” Snart looked confused, and Cisco realized that he hadn’t put the pieces together yet. He didn’t know that Cisco was the vigilante. “You work with the Flash, and you’re not a criminal…”

       Cisco laughed, loud and echoing in the small apartment. “What? Are you _blind_? Can you not see what’s in front of you? You know I haven't been working with the team for a few weeks, did you not figure out why?” He picked up his leather jacket off the floor and pulled his dried blood-soaked bandana and goggles out of the pockets. He turned the jacket over in his hands, running his fingers over the intricate stitching of the back patches. The flaming wolf skull, his middle name, and his gangs name. Los Lobos. “I remember living back in Detroit… it was so much easier then. Move some guns, chop some cars, deal some drugs. It was clear cut. Someone disses your colors, and you just take them down. It was so easy to tell an enemy from a friend. For respect you need power, and to get any power you need to be the bigger man with the even bigger gun. I miss it sometimes, but it’s good that I got out.” He sighed softly, reminiscing of a past long lost. “That life was going to kill me, but now… now I’m just going to end up killing myself if I keep this up.” Cisco closed his eyes and held the bloody leather jacket close to his chest, “I’m not a hero, but I’m still just trying to help.”

       Realization dawned on Snart’s face as he suddenly put the pieces together. The weapons, the goggles, the leather jacket, talk of the media and the city. The desolation and need for isolation and the self-sacrifice. “Wait, are you telling me that  _you’re_ the vigilante, Cisco?” He scoffed and crossed his arms, “how did I not figure this out? The moment you vanished that’s when this all started.”

       “Well, I never said you were a genius.” Cisco shook his head, then shrugged. “Well, now you know my secret, so what are you going to do about it? Going to rat me out or bring me in to the cops? Or worse, you going to run off and tell Barry and the rest of the team?”

       “What? No, way, I ain’t no _snitch_.” Snart grinned, the telling of a secret creating a unique bond. He uncrossed his arms and stepped over to stand next to Cisco in the middle of the room. “Besides, you look like you could use a break.”

       “No, I don't do _breaks_. I’ve got alcohol and Vertigo for when I need a break. I can’t afford to slack off; this is too important to me.” Cisco didn’t know why he was telling Snart all of this. All of his problems. His weaknesses. It just seemed the right thing to do. “I know that I shouldn’t do it, but it’s the only way I’m able to sleep anymore without the nightmares. You can only see how the future turns out so many times before you start to lose your fucking mind. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

       Snart stood in silence as he took in everything Cisco had said. He could tell Cisco wasn’t ready to talk about any of this, so he casually he tried to change the subject. “So, earlier you asked why I was here. I just wanted to make sure Hartley was alright. Mick called and said that he’d picked Hartley up down in Lawrence Hill’s, but he didn’t say anything about bringing you here. Said something about a dog, but that was it.” He rolled his eyes, “he probably didn’t want me to laugh at him again for getting punched in the face.”

       “You laughed at him?” Cisco smirked, “that was a good punch, wasn’t it? I probably shouldn’t have tried to kill him, though, he didn’t deserve it. I was drunk and high when I did it, and next time I see him, I’ll apologize.” He probably shouldn’t have punched Barry in the face either, but it was too late to do anything about that.

       Snart shrugged, “well, I don’t think you’ll need to apologize to Mick, he probably doesn’t care.” He stepped over the weapons and duffel bag once more and walked over to the front door. “Since there's nothing I should worry about here I should probably head out, will you tell Hartley I was here?”

       “Yeah, sure, I’ll tell him for you.”

       Snart opened the door and turned back to Cisco, “and you don’t need to worry, I won’t tell anyone where you are until you want me to.” He stepped out and closed the door behind him, leaving Cisco in the quiet of the apartment. Cisco locked the door, leaned against it and sighed. God, how had things gotten so complicated? But it didn’t matter; he just had to keep going. He kicked his boots off and pulled off his sweat-soaked socks, leaving them lying on the dirty floor.

       Cisco wandered into the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at the bowl full of pancake batter and the spoon dropped on the counter. It looks like Hartley had forgotten about them. And pancakes sounded amazing right about now, and Cisco hadn’t eaten properly in days.

       He turned back to the small living room, picked up his duffel bag and his weapons and tossed them on the couch. He turned towards Hartley; he really should wake him up. He picked the laptop up off of his knees and stopped in place when he saw what was on the screen.

        _‘National Institute of Drug Abuse. What to Do If Your Friend or Loved One Has a Problem with Drugs.’_

       Cisco sighed and placed the laptop on the coffee table, yes; he knew he had a problem, but he could deal with it on his own. He didn’t need help. Well, he didn’t need help yet, so this could just be put on hold until later. He straightened Hartley’s glasses and gently shook his shoulder to wake him up. “Hartley, hey, Hartley, wake up.”

       Hartley mumbled quietly, “no, lemme sleep, go away,” and tried to push Cisco’s hand off his shoulder but instead slapped himself in the face. “Ow, fuck.” He yawned, pushed up his glasses and blearily stared up at Cisco. “Oh, Cisco. Do you know what time is it?”

       “Just a little past ten.” Cisco felt… warm, the feeling starting in his chest and spreading through his limbs. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way Hartley looked right now, still half asleep and his hair mussed up, it was just so confusing. “Snart stopped by earlier, wanted to check up on you.”

       Hartley frowned and sat up in the chair, stretching the sleep out of his limbs. “He did? You didn’t shoot him, did you?”

       Cisco smiled softly and rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t shoot him. Just surprised him a little.” He glanced away from Hartley and tried to take his mind off the growing feeling of warmth in his chest. “Hey, uh, do you mind if I use your shower? I’m kinda covered in my own blood.”

       Hartley nodded and stood, swaying and staggering forward sleepily, “just let me use the bathroom first, then fire away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone I went to high school with just opened up his own clothing company as its co-founder. It's called Affinity Outfitters. They’re planning to sell clothing that represents places people love while giving back a percentage of sales to national parks. It’s kind of cool, and more than I’m doing right now.


	24. To the Nines

     The bathroom door doesn’t have a lock.

     It’s not a problem, Cisco trusted Hartley and knew that he would never try anything, but he felt a prickle of anxiety at the back of his mind. Better get this over with quickly then. Cisco adjusted the shower and watched as the water cascaded from the showerhead.

     With many a nervous glance at the door, Cisco stripped down, peeling his bloody clothes off and dropping them to the floor. Bandages are peeled off with careful haste and Cisco held his breath as he stepped under the stream of water and closed the shower curtain behind him.

     The water was cold as it poured down onto Cisco's skin, and he turned his back to the showerhead, letting himself relax a little bit, and slump against the tiled wall. It’s almost on the edge of icy cold, but it’s not quite there. His teeth chattered a little, and he shivered, not bothering to turn the heat up. This was fine.

     Maybe the cold would put out that warmth he felt every time he even thought of Hartley. He couldn’t afford to get attached; he would only end up hurting them both.

     Cisco stood under the water, slowly going numb to the cold and methodically he began to rinse his hair, watching the blood wash out, turning the water pooling at his feet a sickening shade of pink. The water was almost soothing, and all the aches and pains of his muscles were slowly forgotten. There was a bottle of generic body wash in the shower, and Cisco filled his palm and lathered himself up, feeling the stinging of his stitches and the dull pain of his bruises. He scrubbed himself until he felt raw and exposed and continued until his injuries threatened to bleed once more.

 _“You’re never going to escape me, Cisco.”_ Cisco knew that voice knew that they were just a hallucination, but that knowledge couldn’t stop the words. _“You can’t move forward, and you can’t move back. You’re stuck in this pit of misery until you can make a choice.”_

     “Fuck off, Thawne; you’re not real. You don’t exist here.” His voice was shaking, and goosebumps rose on his skin from both the chill in the water and the fear in his mind. Cisco ground his teeth and hunched his shoulders in on himself, shivering uncontrollably, but not shivering from the cold. Thawne wasn’t real, he was just a hallucination, he wasn’t actually here.

_“Oh, but I am here. Just in your head of course, but that’s still enough. It’s still enough to break you down. It's still enough to push you over the edge of sanity and right into the abyss of madness. Not that it's very hard, especially when you're so weak.”_

     “Shut up; you’re not real.” Cisco pressed his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block out the whispering voice. “Get out of my head.”

 _“Well, it’s certainly not my first choice, but I think I_ **_like_ ** _it here. Nice and, you might be one to say familiar? Besides, both of us know this isn’t the only time I’ve been_ **_inside_ ** _-”_

     Cisco shook his head, trying to tune out the graphic pictures the voice painted, instead choosing to get out of the shower before he froze to death. Not that death wouldn’t be preferable to the nightmare he called reality, but freezing to death isn’t a good way to go. He stumbled out of the shower, turning off the icy spray and grabbing a towel out of the bathroom cabinets. _'Just ignore him, Cisco, don’t let him get to you.'_ He wrapped the towel around his waist and turned towards the door, catching his reflection out of the corner of his eye.

     He leaned in close, taking in the sight. The reflection just screamed ' _victim_ ,' and Cisco almost wanted to believe it. He had a black eye, a split and bruised lip, and the stitches on his forehead made him look even worse than he already did. Cisco frowned and ran his hand over his face, not failing to notice the hollowness of his cheeks and the sallow tone of his skin. God, he really didn’t look good, no wonder Hartley had felt sorry for him. He looked like a goddammed victim. He looked weak. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and he turned back towards the door, trying to ignore the fresh feeling of shame that was boiling in the pit of his stomach.

     Wait, he couldn’t go out there; he stopped in his tracks with his hand on the door. His only clothes were covered in blood and _other_ things, and there was no way in hell any of Hartley’s clothes would fit him. Sure they were almost the same height, but Hartley was much more delicately built with a penchant for slim-fit clothes. Cisco inched the door open, the smell of cooking pancakes drifting in through the small opening.

     “Uh, Hartley? You out there? And if so, can you hear me?”

     Light footsteps were coming closer to the bathroom door until Cisco could see Hartley through the sliver of an opening. “Yeah I can hear you, what do you need?”

     “May I ask you a quick question? Aside from the one I already did, of course.”

     Hartley raised and eyebrow, “what is it?”

     Cisco smiled awkwardly, even though he knew Hartley couldn’t see it. “I didn’t think this through very well, and well, I don’t have any clean clothes.” He could see Hartley trying to keep a straight face, and he couldn’t blame him for wanting to laugh. Cisco continued talking, trying to ease the awkwardness. “I know that it’s probably a longshot, but do you have any clothes that I could borrow?”

     The question hung in the air for a few moments before Cisco saw Hartley nod almost imperceptibly. “Oh, alright. Um, I think there might be something that you could wear in my closet. Just give me a minute, I need to flip my pancakes.” Hartley scampered off back into the kitchen, leaving Cisco alone with his thoughts and the icy chill of the water still on his skin.

     Cisco closed the door the rest of the way and crossed his arms over his chest, immediately wincing with pain and dropping them back to his sides the moment he brushed against the massive bruise on his torso. He’d almost forgotten about the bruise, looks like he would just have to be careful. Just standing in the bathroom was uncomfortable, and Cisco was starting to feel exposed. Trying to keep his mind off of the feeling, he busied himself with drying off, the rough material of the towel painful against the cuts and bruises across his body.

     There was a quiet knock at the bathroom door; Cisco wrapped the towel back around is waist and cracked the door open far enough to peer out into the apartment. He opened it the rest of the way to see Hartley, who had an armful of grey ambiguously shaped clothing which he shoved unceremoniously into Cisco’s arms. “I found this stuff in my closet when I moved in. Whoever lived here last must have left them behind.” Hartley lowered his eyes to the floor, a light blush on his cheeks. “I’m just, I’m gonna go back to the kitchen now. If you want any, there will be pancakes on the coffee table whenever you’re dressed.”

     “Thanks, Hartley,” Cisco closed the door once again and began sorting through the pile of clothes. Whoever they had belonged to had zero sense of style. A black pair of Carhartts, grey flannel, grey t-shirt? So bland and boring, yet classic. Either they had been a hipster or they had been a lumberjack, it was all the same clothes no matter what. Cisco rolled his eyes and brought the shirt up to his nose for a precursory sniff.

     Mothballs and faded cologne. Maybe an undertone of sweat and musk. Cisco shrugged and pulled the grey t-shirt over his head. It could always be much worse. He dressed in silence, noting with surprise the fact that there were both boxers and socks. And almost everything was in his size too. The pants were a bit longer than necessary, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

     Cisco adjusted the faded grey flannel, buttoning it up halfway and rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. He thought he looked fine until he looked down at the scars on his arms. He frowned slightly and rolled the sleeves back down to his wrists. Maybe later.

      _"Insecure, are we?"_

     He took a deep breath and swung the bathroom door open and walked out into the apartment. The smell of pancakes had filled the small apartment, and Cisco smiled softly. Almost felt like home. There were two plates on the small coffee table, both stacked with fresh steaming hot pancakes topped with butter.

     “Want any syrup with those?” Hartley was sitting in the armchair, holding a bottle of maple syrup in one hand, a bottle of strawberry in the other, and an open expression on his face. “I’ve got maple, and I’ve got strawberry.”

 _“Aren’t you going to tell Hartley ‘hi’ for me? Or are you ashamed, think you’re_ **_weak_** _?”_ Cisco ignored the voice instead tugging on the sleeves of the dull flannel and making sure his scars were covered. “Nah, I’m good. Don't like syrup.”

     Hartley shrugged, “suit yourself, you weirdo. Who the hell wants dry pancakes?”

    “Me, that’s who.” Cisco rolled his eyes and sat heavily on the couch, pulling his plate towards himself. He picked up a knife and a fork and cut into his pancakes. They weren’t that bad, especially not for being box mix. A few moments passed, the air filled with an odd tension. “Thank’s for all of,” Cisco gestured to the plates and to the clothes he was wearing. “Thank’s for all of this; I really do appreciate it.”

     “It’s no problem Cisco,” Hartley smiled slightly, an unquantifiable emotion in his eyes. “I would do anything to help you out of this mess.” Once Cisco looked away, Hartley tightened his grip imperceptibly on his own knife. “Anything at all.”


	25. It ain't a Done Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sentences with italics and double quotation marks are the hallucinations and italics with single quotation marks are Cisco's thoughts. I should have specified before now, but I forgot about it.

     The city likes to pretend that there was no crime before the Flash, but they're just trying to fool themselves. Yes, the crime is more obvious now, people punching through bank walls and picking up or even throwing cars around. The crime is more obvious, but it's always been there. Small time gangs have always been there; now they’re just hiding behind the people with powers and abilities. People like the Rogues. And people like the Flash.

     Some of those gangs use the new chaos to keep themselves going. Make a bigger name for themselves. Use the violence to bring in more protection money from innocent people. The Snakeheads are just one of many gangs profiting from the sidelines.

     The Snakeheads had set up a major drug deal with an outside party, and it was just Cisco’s duty to take the Vertigo off the streets. Well, it’s both a duty and a pleasure.

     But thinking about this was a luxury Cisco couldn’t afford as he frantically ducked a swinging fist and he cursed internally, pulling himself out of his introspection. He couldn’t afford to get philosophical right now; he had to get physical first. There was only one person left standing out of a dozen, but that didn’t mean he could go easy on them. He ducked again, but a little too slow, his assailant's fist catching him in the face and re-splitting his lip. _‘Pay attention Cisco!’_

     Cisco pulled his bandana down, spat blood onto the filthy alley floor and cracked his knuckles as he rounded on the last standing gangster. He smirked as he swung his fist into the face of the last criminal standing, feeling the skin of his knuckles bruising and splitting in the process. The thug fell to the ground, knocked out cold from the force of his fists alone.

     No guns were needed right now, it was just a simple drug deal. Small time thugs who were going to double-cross each other anyways. Cisco pulled a can of spray paint from his pocket and left his tag on the wall. He hadn’t even brought his voice modulator; he hadn’t seen the point of it.

     He picked the black duffle bags off of the ground and walked away with his head held high. It didn’t matter that the police wouldn’t ever know about this, it wasn’t about the police. This was just to send a message.

     The streets didn’t belong to the two-bit thugs and the dime-a-dozen lowlife. The streets belonged to him now. But they didn’t belong to Cisco; they belonged to _‘Paco_.’ They belonged to Los Lobos.

     With every step, the bag of money felt lighter and lighter. There had to be over fifty grand in the bag, and there was no way it could be traced. This was his chance to start over. He could just take the money and get out of town. Just take the money and leave, forget about Central City, forget about his past and start over. Change his name and open a computer repair business in a different state. Work for twenty years and retire young. He could be free from this. _‘Don’t you know this is your fate? You can’t escape the past amigo.’_

A bag full of Vertigo in one hand.

A bag full of dirty money in the other.

     But no, he couldn’t leave this city, he still had unfinished business here.

     Cisco stopped in the middle of the alley exit. The moment he left here he had to make a choice. He could go back to the apartment, or he could turn tail and run away like a coward. Which one was it going to be?

     “Hey, yo, Cisco!”

     “What? Who-” Cisco looked up in a half panic to see a familiar face standing in front of him. “Oh, it’s just you. Why are you out here, Lamont?”

     The liquor store clerk gestured to the small paper bag he carried, “I was planning to get drunk and smoke a bowl before I go to work. You interested in joining me?”

     Cisco shrugged, tightening his grip on the two duffel bags. “I might as well.”

     “ _Man_ , you look like shit, you should see a doctor. Cool, it’s been a long while since you came into the shop, haven’t seen you for a while, dude.” Lamont grinned a lopsided grin. “Well, haven’t seen you in the store. On the TV, though…”

     “Yeah, I’ve been, I’ve been busy. And don’t go shouting my name out while I’m on patrol.” Of course, the man he bought booze from knew who he was, he was there almost every week in and out of costume. He stared up at what was visible of the city skyline as they set off towards the liquor store. Did he really have anywhere else to go?

     “Yeah, whatever, let’s go get _turnt_!”

     Cisco rolled his eyes, “don’t say that.”

     “Cool beans, yo.”

     “Or that.”

***

     “You know what’s wrong with teenagers?” Lamont blew a cloud of smoke directly into Cisco’s face as he picked up a bottle of beer. “You wanna know?”

     The two of them definitely weren’t friends, but it was nice having another person who knew about his alter ego. Cisco glanced around the empty alley and pulled his vibe goggles up to his forehead when he saw that it was empty. Not having to pretend to be someone else was calming, and more than he deserved.

     “Fine, what is it?” Cisco downed his own bottle of beer in one long draw, “what’s wrong with teenagers?”

     “They’re all, mm, they’re all just _assholes_. Self entitled little pricks. Thinking they rule the world and shit. Not yet they don’t.” Lamont waved his pipe at Cisco, smoke still rolling from the bowl, “you wanna hit, dude?”

     “Might as well,” Cisco grabbed the pipe and lighter from Lamont and raised the blown glass to his lips. It took a few tries, but he was able to spark it up, the musk of good weed combining with the chemical stench of the butane lighter. He took a deep draw, feeling hot smoke fill his lungs.

     “Anyways, teenagers are terrible.” Lamont suddenly turned serious and stared knowingly at Cisco as he spoke. “I know I’m not someone you know or even trust, but people know that you’re doing the right thing out there, bro, but you need to be careful. I’ve heard some things around town. You should keep an eye out whenever you’re on the streets. You know what I mean man?”

     Cisco passed the pipe back to Lamont and picked up a fresh beer. “What have you heard out there?”

     “Not much, just whispers. Since SnowFlame got killed, it’s just been crazy out there.” The darker skinned man shrugged, turning the pipe over in his hands. “I only know what I’ve heard. Weird shit has been happening all across the country. Clowns in the streets. Something about a man made out of plants, and maybe a little something about the Skulls moving into the territory of the Snakeheads.”

     Cisco spat out a mouthful of beer in surprise and gaped at Lamont. “Did you say the _Skulls?_ As in the _Detroit_ Skulls?”

     “Your guess is as good as mine on where they came from; I just know that their boss, _Slice_ , is one bad fucker. Say she got her name from what she did to all her victims. It’s pretty fucked up, dude.”

     Cisco stared up at the sky, the sun was still high, and tried to ignore the fact that his old rival gang was in town. He just hoped they didn’t see the tags he’s left across the city. Hell, who was he kidding, they were probably the first things they saw. Cisco thought of the aged wound on his back, remembering how it had happened. A blood feud between the two gangs escalating into a full war and a fight to the death between the two leaders. He'd won the fight and had even gone so far as to spare his opponents life. That had been a mistake on his part. But hindsight is 20/20, or that’s what people say.

     And now the woman who’s gang had challenged him back then was back, and she’s soon be coming for more, and just like last time Cisco didn’t intend to be the loser. Cisco sipped at his beer in silence before a question sprung to the front of his mind. “Dude, who the hell brews this? I need to know because it is just fucking disgusting. This is shit; this is a garbage beer, and you should be ashamed. It’s bad, and you should feel bad. Why are you giving me this?” Cisco took another sip. “Why am I still drinking it?”

     “I dunno, some weird sense of duty that all vigilantes seem to have? A bizarre need to see things through to the end? Hell, maybe you just I dunno, want to be drunk?”

     Cisco rolled his eyes and finished off the beer, tossing the bottle into the overflowing dumpster and pulling his vibe goggles back over his eyes. “Maybe a yes on the last one, but I doubt the rest.” He grabbed a few extra bottles of beer and sighed when his gaze fell back on the two duffel bags. Cisco stood and grabbed the two bags, “I should get out of here, and _you,_  youshould forget you saw me.”

     Lamont blew a billowing cloud of smoke in Cisco’s direction. “Forget I saw who?”

     “Perfect.”

***

     Cisco stood in the tiny bathroom with the lights off, finishing off the last of his beer. He was already half drunk, and he stood silently, staring into the duffle bag sitting in the sink. The blue glow from his vibe goggles shone down on rows upon rows of double-chambered needles which stared back up at him, but all Cisco saw were shades of grey. He watched as without any kind of permission his hand reached down into the bag, grabbing a needle with desperation. His other hand was shaking as he rolled up his sleeve. Cisco caught the eye of his reflection and whispered hoarsely. “Why am I doing this? I really shouldn’t…” he whispered as he uncapped the needle and held it against his skin. “I should just toss the needle in the trash, just get rid of all of it.”

_“What, do you want my input? I’m just a hallucination created by your fucked up mind. You’re already drunk, don’t do drugs, especially not Vertigo.”_

     “Shut up, Thawne.” His eyes fluttered shut as the drug hit his system, and immediately he reached for another needle. He hadn’t felt so good in so long. Vertigo wasn’t something you can easily forget. The floating feeling was nowhere near as amazing as the _emptiness_ in his mind. No thoughts, no visions, no pain. Just nothingness. No worries about his past coming back to haunt him, no _fear_.

     Slumped on the floor and back to the wall, Cisco rifled through the second duffle bag, amazed at how much money was there. He was right; it was over fifty grand. Far more than fifty and closer to eighty. Experiencing the Vertigo for himself explained why they were willing to pay that much. High purity, but cut just enough so you don’t die in agony. Nice. Whoever was producing this, they sure knew their shit.

     “Cisco? Are you here? I forgot my phone, have you seen it?”

     Cisco cursed under his breath, but he didn’t move from his spot on the bathroom floor, too far gone from the Vertigo to do anything but feel the promises of tranquility being carried out. There was a reason he always came back to Vertigo, and this was it.  

     “Cisco? Hello?”

     Footsteps settled in front of the bathroom door, and Cisco knew he was busted. Cisco sighed softly and whispered, “I’m in here, Hartley.”

     The door swung open with a creak of old hinges, and Hartley flicked on the light. He gasped when he saw Cisco slumped on the floor, needle still in his arm and another primed and ready in his hand. His jaw dropped when he saw the bag of drugs and fell even further when he saw the bag of money. “What the _hell_ is going on in here?”

     “Heh, whoops, looks like I’m _busted_!” Cisco lazily tugged the empty needle out of his arm and tossed it haphazardly into the waste bin. He rolled his head onto his shoulder and waved at Hartley. “Welcome to the Pain Train!” Not caring that he was being watched he pushed the second needle under his skin, his eyes rolling back as the second dose of the drug hit his system. “Fuck, that’s the good shit.”

     “What? What _is_ all of this?” Harley pointed at the money and the drugs, finally noticing a fresh bruise on Cisco’s face and his recently re-split lip.

     “Like I said, it’s the fucking Pain Train! _Whoot-whoot_ , all aboard! Next stop, Cisco-is-a-shitty-friend-ville!” Cisco mimed pulling the cord of a train horn, an icy smile that didn’t reach his eyes plastered on his face.

     “I’m serious Cisco, just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Hartley was so conflicted, he’d thought that he’d been managing to get through to Cisco, he thought he’d actually been helping him get better.

     Cisco wiped drool from his lip and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, I’m obviously not sitting on the floor reenacting my favorite scenes of _Supernatural,_ so that’s out of the picture. So I think _,_ not so sure how well it’s working for me, but I _think_ that I’m getting high and trying my best to forget about the fact that I got repeatedly raped by the Reverse Flash.” Moments after the words escaped Cisco’s mouth did his thoughts manage to catch up. Instead of trying to say more Cisco just leaned back against the wall and stared at Hartley as nonchalantly as he could while panicking internally. “So, yeah, that’s ‘bout it, _mijo_.” _‘He knows now, he knows that you’re weak.’_

     “You, _what_ ?” Hartley felt the world as he knew it come to a complete halt, everything stopping and falling to the ground to shatter in an explosion of sin and misery. “You… Oh God, _Cisco._ ” Who could do something so awful, so morally repugnant?

     “What?” Cisco tried to pretend he didn’t know what Hartley was talking about, instead busying himself with tossing the second needle into the garbage. He closed his eyes and prayed that when he opened them back up, Hartley would be gone. That he would just leave and never look back. He prayed that he wouldn’t have to face the truth. He wished that he could take it back; make it so he had never said those words, he didn’t want another person looking at him like he was broken.

     But none of that happened. When he opened his eyes, Hartley was still standing there, a look of horror mixed with a bone aching sadness. It was more than just sadness and had moved past pity, it was _sorrow_. But it was still the same to Cisco, someone looking at him like he was broken beyond repair. Like he was a wounded animal that needed to be put down to stop their suffering.

     “Oh, no. Come on, don’t look at me like that. Fucking hell.” Cisco sighed, seeing the tears begin to fill Hartley’s eyes, “stop that, there’s no reason for you to be crying over me. You’ll get dehydrated.”

     Hartley said nothing, tears continuing to fall, and Cisco grew anxious knowing he was being stared at. He didn’t want to see Hartley cry, he actually _cared_ about him, even if he refused to think about it. But this moment, this moment of truth, his own feeling of shame and Hartley’s feeling of sorrow, it wasn’t right. It felt almost _intimate_ in ways it shouldn’t have. An emotional closeness, not a physical one. And it was a closeness Cisco knew would only cause more pain to them both.

     “Don’t cry for me; I’m not worth it. Besides, it was my own damn fault.” Cisco pulled his knees up against his chest and avoided Hartley’s gaze. God, seeing Hartley crying, it _hurt_. Deep in his chest, it hurt. Cisco failed to fight back his own tears and covered his face so Hartley wouldn’t see him cry. He didn’t want to be weak.

     “No.” Hartley shook his head in shock, “don’t say that. Don’t you _ever_  even think about saying that. It’s not your fault Cisco, never say that it’s your fault.” Harley wiped futilely at his tears, trying to make sense out of everything.

     Cisco shrugged, “why not? I’ve got so many gaps in my memory that I can’t say it’s _not_ the truth. Who fucking knows, Thawne might have had a point; I’m just worthless. No good for anything. I’m just a _mistake_ .” Cisco’s voice cracked pathetically, and his shoulders shook as he just let go and broke down in tears that had been held long at bay. “I mean, why else would he do what he did? Why would nobody even try to find me? Why didn’t anyone _save me_?” He sobbed softly; he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care that he looked weak, he just couldn’t keep everything locked up anymore. “I just, I just can’t do this anymore, Hartley. I can’t do it!”

     The small bathroom was filled with quiet sobs, and Hartley felt useless; he didn’t know how to help. He knelt down next to Cisco and slowly reached towards the other man's shoulder until he made contact softly. Cisco flinched but didn’t push his hand off his shoulder. Instead, he leaned into the contact, slowly at first until suddenly the dam broke and he turned and buried his face in Hartley’s chest, his quiet sobs masked in Hartley’s sweater. Cisco whispered quietly, words interrupted by his sobs, “I don’t know what to do anymore, Hartley. I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on from this.”

     Hartley said nothing, only wrapping his arms around Cisco and holding him closer to his chest, trying to help him feel some kind of comfort. He gently rubbed Cisco’s back with one hand, and he ran the other through his hair. Cisco’s breath hitched, and Hartley unconsciously tightened his hold on the other man, trying to do his best not to break down himself. He had no way of knowing anything that Cisco was feeling, and he wasn’t going to pretend to understand his trauma.

     “I can’t live like this, Hartley. I can’t live scared anymore.” Cisco struggled to get his breathing back under control, and he kept his face hidden in Hartley’s chest, muffling his words. “I can’t hide behind who I used to be, I need to move forward, but I can’t.”

     “You don’t have to live like this, Cisco. I’m going to help you get through this; I swear it.” Hartley thought back on the promise he had made in that filthy warehouse. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was all so recent. But no matter what he needed to do, he was going to keep that promise, even if it took him to the ends of the Earth, he would keep his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every night I hear my neighbor's girlfriend come home and yell at him. An hour later when she's gone again, I hear him singing his son to sleep. Every damn night, like clockwork. It's just; it's just tragic. He deserves so much better than that psycho druggie.


	26. 'till the Deals are all Done

     Cisco woke up slowly, his sense of touch the first to awake and the warmth of another person so close to him a shock to himself until he remembered how he had broken down in tears.  _‘God, I’m weak, but it doesn’t feel like I did something I shouldn’t have. Maybe, just maybe, showing some emotion can be a good thing.’_

     Hartley was snoring softly, which brought a small smile to Cisco’s face. Cisco untangled himself from Hartley’s arm and unraveled Hartley’s other hand from his hair. He stood slowly, sighing and stretching his tired limbs. It had been a long while since he had slept so peacefully, no nightmares or visions, and he had a strong feeling it wasn't from the Vertigo. Cisco didn’t want to think long about what that meant, but he was sure that sleeping next to Hartley had been what had helped.

     Cisco stretched once more and nudged Hartley with the toe of his boot, “wake up Hartley, you’re still on the bathroom floor.”

     Hartley mumbled quietly, “no, I don’t want any potatoes. Why would I want potatoes?”

     Cisco raised an eyebrow and nudged Hartley with his toe again, maybe a little harder than necessary, “what?  _No_ , I don’t have potatoes, just wake up already!”

     “Just five more minutes.”

     “No, not five more minutes, now! You’re on the bathroom floor propped up on a bag of money!” Cisco grinned, this entire scene was just so ridiculous. "Wake up you nerd!"

     Hartley just groaned and flipped off Cisco before blinking awake and blearily staring up at Cisco. “Oh, it’s just you. What time is it? Why am I sleeping on money?”

     Cisco shrugged, “for the first question, I have no clue, I just woke up. The second question, I just won’t answer.” He turned, coming face to face with his reflection, and with the duffle bag full of Vertigo. Cisco ran his hand through his hair, “I should really get rid of all this. Just toss it in the dumpster and maybe set the dumpster on fire afterward. Get rid of the temptation altogether.”

     “Why do you have a giant bag full of drugs in the first place?” Hartley stood up, swaying on his feet slightly. “No, actually, I think I'm more concerned about the bag full of money. Where did this all come from?”

     “Funny story, long story actually.” Cisco zipped up the duffel bag of Vertigo and threw it over his shoulder. “Well, maybe not that long or funny, but still badass as fuck. Where’s the dumpster, we can walk and talk.”

     “It’s out back,” Hartley pushed up his glasses, “just follow me and tell me where you got all this shit.”

     Cisco rolled his eyes and grinned as the two of them left the apartment and headed down the stairs. “Well, so there was this drug deal between whatever was left of SnowFlame's crew and the Snakeheads. I knew they were just going to end up betraying each other and the standoff would just spill out into the street, so I took a preemptive measure. And by preemptive measure I mean I beat them half to death. And if you think that it’s not that badass, I will let you know that there were twelve of them.” Cisco didn’t mention how he had found out about the Skulls moving into town, nor was he talking about rebuilding the machine from the warehouse.

     “ _Twelve_ of them? Jesus, did you bring a gun?!” Hartley didn’t want to encourage Cisco’s violent tendencies so he would never say this, but he was definitely impressed.

     “What? No way, it wasn’t necessary!” Cisco shrugged, “I mean;  _they_ had guns, but I dealt with worse violence from my hazing in the Los Lobos. So it wasn’t a big deal.”

     “Not a big- Damn, Cisco, you need to fill me in on who the fuck the Los Lobos are and how you know how to do all this shit.” Hartley led Cisco to the alley behind the apartment complex and pointed him to the dumpster.

     “Seriously? You never looked into my records like the creeper you are?” Cisco tossed the duffel bag into the half-full dumpster, the glass vials cracking and splitting on impact, Vertigo soaking into the black fabric. Cisco pulled a lighter from his pocket and stared down at the bag. He knew this was how it had to end; he couldn’t take any more chances with the drug. “You know, I would have thought that finding out every detail of my life would be the first thing you would have done back when we first met.” He tossed the lighter into the oily rags next to the duffle bag watching as the flames climbed higher and began to spread.

     “Well, you would think I’d do that, but no. No, I didn’t look up anyone’s history while at STAR Labs. I should have, though.” Hartley watched the fire in the dumpster spread from the garbage to the duffle bag. “So, tell me about how you know how to do all this.”

     Cisco began walking back to the front of the apartment building, “not out here, let’s go upstairs so I can chang- oh  _shit_ , did I wash my other clothes?” Cisco stopped dead in his tracks and pulled at the grey t-shirt he was wearing, the one that once clean, now smelled like a hot mess. “Because I smell bad. Like, I  _really_ smell bad.”

     Let’s just say it’s not a good smell. Like fear-sweat, hot garbage, blood, Vertigo, and alcohol. All mixed and lit on fire. And maybe some more blood on top. All of it soaked in acid and oil and topped off with marijuana.

     “Well, you didn’t wash them, but I did before I went to work yesterday.” Hartley shrugged, walking past Cisco, opening the building door and heading up the stairs.“I just tossed them in with some of my other clothes.”

     “...you did?” Cisco grinned, “that was, you didn’t need to do that.”

     “Oh, it was no big deal.”

     “No big deal,” Cisco couldn’t stop himself from smiling, the feeling he got in his chest whenever he looks at Hartley was back. “You took the time out of your day to actually think about me, and you willingly put that... huge mess in with your laundry. That is, hands down, one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”

     “Okay Cisco, I think you’re exaggerating a little bit.”

     Cisco rolled his eyes and followed Hartley up the stairs; grin still plastered on his face. “Fine, maybe I am exaggerating just a little bit, but you still didn’t have to do that.”

     The two of them stepped into the apartment, and Hartley handed Cisco, a pile of his clothes. “There was a giant hole in your pants, I want to say it looked like a stab wound, but I’m not sure. I had one of the girls at work sew it up.”

     “Yep, you were right, it was a stab wound. And thanks again, Hartley.” Cisco headed to the bathroom to change. He was glad to have his clothes back, even if they now smelled like the same detergent Hartley used. Cisco changed quickly, putting his leather jacket on over his tattered red shirt. He turned to the door, picking up the duffel bag full of cash before leaving the bathroom. “Hey, Hartley? You wanted to know about Los Lobos, right? You still want to know everything?” Cisco set the duffel bag on the small coffee table and grabbed a few bundles of cash which he shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

     Hartley shrugged. “I mean, I have to go to work in about an hour, so tell me while I still have time.”

     “Well, everything started back when I was a kid. In Detroit, you either get with a gang, or you die. So I joined the gang that controlled my street. Los Lobos, I mean, it wasn’t the best gang, and we had some serious enemies. But it was worth not getting murdered. For some people, fifteen dollars can make or break you. I didn’t want to be just another statistic. Just one more poor kid lying dead in the gutter. If you want more details on my police record, well, you can look that up on your own time, I’m not up for explaining everything I did. It should all be on public record now.” Cisco pulled off his jacket, running his fingers over the raised stitching of the patches on the back. “It wasn’t a good life, but it was my own. I made… I made a lot of mistakes back in those days. A lot of people got hurt because of what I did, but at the same time, I don’t regret it.” He ran his hands over the lettering, the words echoing in his mind as an affirmation of who he used to be, and still was.

     Hartley picked his laptop off of the coffee table, a few keystrokes later he was combing through a police record longer than he had expected it to be. Larceny, grand theft auto, drug distribution, assault with a deadly weapon, racketeering, even murder. The list went on and on, each crime worse than the last. “Jesus Christ, Cisco! What the  _fuck_?! This is some jacked up shit.”

     “I know, I know. It’s pretty bad.” Cisco shrugged, “but that’s all in the past now. I would say that I’m not that person anymore, but I would be lying. That may be in the past, but it’s still me. I just hope the media doesn’t figure out the connection to my old gang. I already get it bad from them; I don’t need even more bullshit.” He pulled his leather jacket back on, checking to make sure the money was still in his pockets. He sat on the couch, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as Hartley processed what he had said.

     “So you were a gang leader until you, what? How did you end up here in Central?” Hartley put the laptop back on the table, listening with rapt attention to everything Cisco was saying.

     Cisco huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “You wouldn’t think it, but online school. When I wasn’t running with the gang, I was taking classes. Managed to get into college and from there I got into STAR Labs. A lot of that was just dumb luck. I could have stayed on that street for the rest of my life, but I managed to get out. I was lucky, but some of the rest…  _most_ of them are in the morgue.”

     “Just luck?” Hartley shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that the opportunities in Cisco’s life had been so few and far between. But at the same time, he could believe it. He just didn’t know how Cisco could rise above all of it. “How did you manage to do it? Just, how the hell are you still  _here_?”

     “Just dumb luck.” Cisco shrugged, “I should be dead about a hundred times over. There’s just so many ways I could have, no, I  _should_ have died. But guns can jam, bullets and knives will miss your arteries and brain-death… well, let me just say that three minutes is a lot more time than you would think.” He cast his eyes down, feeling as if every protective layer he had built was being stripped away. The brick walls were being torn down, crumbling to dust at his feet.

     “If it means anything to you, Cisco, I just want you to know that I’m glad you made it.” Hartley smiled, “I’m glad you’re here.”

     “Thank’s Hartley, it does mean something to me.” Cisco smiled, the warmth in his chest was almost overwhelming. “Do you, um, you want to go out to lunch? Maybe with me?”

     “As, what? As a date?” Hartley hoped it was a date. He felt a blush forming on his cheeks, unable to hold his eye contact with Cisco. "I mean if it's a date..."

     Cisco grinned, “maybe as a date, unless you don’t want it to be a date.” He wanted it to be a date, God; he didn’t even know why he did. “I mean, that’s up to you.” The fact that Hartley knew every bad thing Cisco had done and wasn't currently running for the hills filled Cisco with a sense of peace, almost of belonging.  

     “I would; yeah, I would love to go on a date with you.” Hartley smiled softly at Cisco until he remembered what time it was. “But I have work soon, and I can’t afford to call in.”

     “Where do you work?” Cisco didn’t want to need to reschedule, some part of him just wanted to grab onto Hartley and never let go again.

     “I work down at the Kozy Kitchen. And not the good one.” Hartley rolled his eyes, “I hate it, and the other people are all assholes, but I need the money.”

     “Just call in.”

     “No, I still need the rent money. And I don’t feel like starving to death. Nor do I feel like joining Snart and his little band of Rogues.”

     Cisco gestured to the duffel bag on the table. “There’s your rent money right there. Over fifty grand in untraceable cash!”

     “Well, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

     “Come on, just call in. Or even better, just quit.” Cisco shrugged, “I have no use for all that money, and you’ve done so much to help over the past few days, you could use the money more than I do.”

     “I really shouldn’t,” Hartley frowned, the money was a good incentive, but still… “You know what,” he pulled out his phone, dialing the number for his boss, “you’re right, I’ll just quit! I hate it there; my hours are terrible, and almost everyone there is a jerk.”

Cisco watched and listened as Hartley talked to his manager, he was really giving them the business about why he was quitting. He raised an eyebrow at some of the more, let's just say  _choice_ insults and descriptions. Once Hartley hung up, Cisco stood and held out his hand. “So Hartley, where do you want to go?”

***

     “No way, that’s impossible!” Hartley shook his head, “people aren’t that insane!”

     “It’s true! Cross my heart and hope to die!” The two of them were at Jitters, the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop making for a casual atmosphere. Cisco sipped at his coffee, aware of the stares the two of them were getting. Him in his scruffy leather jacket, it was blatantly obvious that he was the clad in black vigilante, and Hartley in his trendy and on fashion clothes, the two of them obviously a bad match. But Cisco didn’t care what other people thought; he was happy for once.

     “Nope, I refuse to believe that people are fanshipping Captain Cold and the Flash!” Hartley didn’t want that image in his head; he was more than certain that it would be weird and wrong on so many levels. “I don’t want to think about that; it’s just too much.”

     Cisco chuckled quietly, “you’re sitting across the table from someone who can read the future and more, but ColdFlash is too much for you?"

     “...they have a name for it too?” Hartley couldn’t believe, well, he could believe it but didn’t want to. “They have a name. Why ‘ColdFlash?’ Why not ‘CaptainFlash?’ It sounds sexier.”

     “Because 'CaptainFlash' sounds like a pornstar. Wait a second.” Cisco raised his eyebrow in a silent question, “do you have a problem with the fact that they’re being shipped, or only with the ship name?”

     Hartley didn’t respond. Instead, he just drank his hot chocolate in awkward silence.

     “It’s the name isn’t it?” Cisco grinned, “I knew it. You ship it now, don’t you? Or have you always shipped it?”

     Hartley picked imaginary dust from his sleeve, a coy smirk curving his lips. “Perhaps I’m putting some thought into how the two of them could resolve their differences.” He snickered and gestured between the two of them before resting his hand back on the small table, “wait. Serious question here; what would our ship name be?”

     Cisco laughed, “are we using our real names or the names of our alter egos?"

     “Real names, because your vigilante name just doesn’t work with ‘Pied Piper.’” Hartley shrugged, “probably end up with something like ‘Rathsco,’ or ‘Hartmon.’”

     “Probably ‘Hartmon.’ It sounds better. ‘Rathsco’ sounds like some kind of evil corporation hell bent on world domination.” Cisco crossed his arms in faux outrage, “but don’t you diss my middle name!”

     “Wait.” Hartley stared incredulously at Cisco. “You just used your middle name? Seriously, that is pure laziness right there.”

     Cisco rolled his eyes melodramatically, “I couldn’t run around Detroit with ‘Francisco’ written on my back! I’d be a laughingstock! But no, I agree with you, I think ‘Hartmon’ would be our ship name.”

     “At least it sounds better than ‘ColdFlash.’”

     “I’ll drink to that.” Cisco leaned forward in his seat, coffee in one hand and his free hand ‘accidentally’ landing on Hartley’s. Very much an ‘accident’ if you would believe him. Cisco smiled softly and watched as a blush spread across Hartley’s cheeks, and the two of them laced their fingers together as a comfortable silence fell over the table. Cisco had found someone he could be himself around and he didn't need to worry about hiding anymore.

     “ _Cisco?_ Oh my god!” A loud sound of clattering high heels and Cisco turned in his seat just in time to see Caitlin Snow barreling towards him with a look of distress on her face. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

     Cisco turned back to Hartley with wide eyes. “Shit, I didn’t check to see if anyone would see me here… Hartley, if she makes me go to STAR Labs will you come with me? Please, I can’t go there alone.” He looked into Hartley’s eyes, hoping his sincerity would translate. “I can’t go back there on my own; it’s just too much.”

     Hartley nodded solemnly, tightening his grip on Cisco’s hand in some attempt to calm him. “I’ll go with you.” He had a feeling he knew why Cisco didn’t want to go back, and it most likely had something to do with his confession on the bathroom floor.

     “Cisco!” Caitlin skidded to a halt next to the table, out of breath and her phone in hand. "What are you doing here? We've been looking for you for weeks!"

     "Oh, I'm just having lunch with Hartley, what about you? What are _you_ doing here?" Cisco knew he sounded sarcastic, but he didn't feel like dealing with everyone at STAR Labs right now. He didn't feel like deal with them ever again, even if the future said that he would.

     “I’m calling Barry right now; you need to come back to STAR Labs with me. As for you, Hartley…” Her voice trailed off as she noticed their intertwined hands on the table.

     “If I’m going back to STAR Labs, Hartley is going to be coming with me.” Cisco avoided making eye contact with Caitlin, but the tone of his voice made it obvious that there was no questioning his decision.

     Caitlin nodded as she sent a text to Barry instead of calling him. He could have to STAR Labs van outside the coffee house within minutes of receiving the text; Caitlin just hoped Cisco wouldn’t disappear this time. Speaking of Cisco disappearing, she thought it was more than a little odd that the first time any of them have seen him since he ran off he’s with Hartley. Caitlin raised her eyebrows as she mulled things over in her mind. Were the two of them together, or were they _together_? She wanted to know, but at the same time… maybe she would be better off not questioning things if the death glare Hartley was shooting at her was anything to go by.

     “So, Cisco.” Caitlin tried to keep her voice level, not letting any of her worry slip through. “Where have you been?”

     Cisco shrugged awkwardly, tapping his foot with anxiety. “I’ve been, you know, _around_. Lawrence Hill’s, mostly. Spent some time out in a dumpster before I started sleeping in an abandoned warehouse.”

     Hartley frowned, “you didn’t tell me you had been sleeping in a dumpster.”

     “Because you acted like it was the end of the world when you saw the warehouse I was staying in! Can you imagine what you would have done if I told you I had been living in a dumpster?” Cisco let a small smile show on his face, he was trying his best not to panic at the thought of going back to STAR Labs, but his best wasn’t enough right now. He kept tracing Hartley’s thumb with his own in an attempt to keep himself grounded, and he kept marveling at the fact that someone would let him get so close even after they knew his secret. “You might have had a damn heart attack if I were to have told you about the dumpster. And the fact that I ate a dumpster pizza.”

     “You did _what_!?” Hartley gaped, his jaw dropping in a combination of surprise and confusion. “You ate a pizza out of a dumpster?” He rolled his eyes, it actually didn't surprise him that Cisco would do that, but it was still ridiculous. 

     “And are you saying that you haven’t?”

     Caitlin just stared blankly as a response to Cisco’s statement; she had no clue what Cisco had been doing with his life since his disappearance, but it sounded insane. That leather jacket he was wearing sure looked familiar; Caitlin was sure she had seen it before. Before she could put more thought into it, her phone buzzed, Barry had brought the STAR Labs van and had parked outside. Caitlin kept her voice quiet, “Cisco, Barry’s here. We need to go back to STAR Labs; there’s something the entire team needs to talk about.”

     Cisco nodded in silence, still gripping Hartley’s hand, scared that if he were to let go, he would never have the chance to hold his hand ever again. “Sure, I just need to leave a tip.” With his empty hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a few twenties out of the stacks. He stood quietly, keeping close to Hartley. “Let’s go before I change my mind about this.”


	27. No Reason to Believe

     STAR Labs is chilly, even with the heat of the day bearing down outside the building manages to stay ice cold. It’s either from good insulation or the negativity rolling off the building’s occupants. Cisco tapped his foot anxiously and made eye contact with Hartley who smiled softly back at him from across the room. The atmosphere in the Cortex felt stiff, and would only get worse as more people arrived.

     Right now it’s just Caitlin, and Barry, but Cisco knows that everyone else is already on their way here, he can already hear the footsteps. It’s Joe first, followed by Harry and Jesse. Cisco’s just glad that Dante isn’t there, he would never be able to face him with this sort of thing. But one day he would need to come clean, but not yet, not today. He still needed time for his scars, both emotional and physical, to heal before that day would ever come.

     Joe was talking, something about the rest of the police force being unable to track Cisco down, but Cisco wasn’t listening. He was too distracted. The moment Harry had stepped into the room, Cisco felt ill. He knew that he wasn’t Thawne, but that nausea was still there burning in the pit of his stomach. For some reason he couldn’t stop staring, trying to convince himself not to run with each second that passed by. Cisco started listing the differences between Eobard’s Harrison Wells impersonation and Harry in an attempt to convince himself that he was safe, but the similarities kept tipping the scales back out of balance. He continued to stare long after what could be considered normal and didn’t realize that everyone around him had noticed.

     Cisco spoke quietly, his words carrying in the silence of the Cortex, but he didn’t care that they could hear him. He needed to get this off his chest. “It’s hard for me even to think about you, Harry. There’s nothing I can do about that. I just hate that you look so much like him. You even sound like him. I hate it. I hate the fact that when I look at you, I don’t see _you_ , just another version of him. I hate that you made me relive every damn thing that bastard did to me, and you didn’t even have the common courtesy to _ask_ before ruining my life!” Cisco’s breath was shaky, and his voice grew in volume as he spoke. “I hate that every single one of you thinks’s I’m some kind of _victim_ ! I’m not a victim, dammit. I fucking hate that I can’t even look in the _mirror_ without seeing what Thawne did to me. God, I hate it all so much.”

     He felt tears burn at the back of his eyes, but Cisco forced them back. He didn’t want to cry in front of them; he didn’t want to let them see just how ashamed of himself he really was. “I hate that you all knew I was hiding something and instead of asking me, you decided to take it upon yourselves to find out what happened.” Cisco stopped trying to keep the tears at bay, he didn’t see the point, and he let the tears fall, his voice cracking as he continued to let all his bottled emotions pour out in a tsunami of despair and regret. “I wish that you all could have trusted me instead of going behind my back and making me relive it all. But more than anything, I wish that I could just forget it all, just make it all go away, but I can’t. I have to live with what happened, even if it kills me.”

     “But I think the one thing that I hate most of all is the fact that deep down, I feel like this was all my own fault. I feel like I deserved it. Feel like I’m the one to blame for what he did. I don’t know if I can live with that guilt.” He shook his head and cast his gaze to the floor. He couldn’t face them anymore, not now that they knew his secret. They knew how much he hated himself and how much he wanted to end it all. The room fell silent once more, a look of shame in the eyes of those Cisco had once called ‘friends.’

     “Why are you all staring at me?” Cisco was doing his best to deal with the tension in the Cortex, but he knew he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. And maybe pouring out his soul with his little monolog hadn’t helped either. He tapped his foot anxiously and leaned against the wall. “It’s almost like you’ve never seen someone this good looking!” He laughed at his own bad quip, his laugh high pitched and almost hysterical sounding.

     “Cisco, you know why we’re all here,” Barry tried to keep his voice level as he spoke, “you need help and-”

     Cisco slammed his fist against the wall behind him and snarled a reply, “no, _fuck_ that bullshit! Don't you _dare_  say that I need help! You don’t get to decide when I need help! Do you think I don’t _know_ that I need help? Because I _do_ know! I’ve known that I needed help for so damn long, but it’s way too late for any of that now! I needed help long before this all came to light.” Cisco knew he sounded bitter, but he didn’t care. He was just _angry_ beyond reasoning. He’d waited for anyone, anything, for almost a month before leaving, but nothing had come. “I wanted a reason, no, I _needed_ a reason to believe in this group,” he waved a hand at the group, “in this _team_ , but I don’t think that there are any. I don’t think that a reason to believe in this even exists.” He sighed and cast his eyes to the floor; he shouldn’t have come here, he wasn’t ready to face his fears yet. _‘I’ll never be ready to face those fears, but I should still try.’_

     “Cisco, you’re not okay,” Caitlin spoke softly, trying to be the voice of reason. “You need to let us help you get better.”

     “Don’t you people think I know that?” Cisco shook his head and glared around the room. “I mean, _fuck_ , have you seen the mess I’ve become? I’m a walking disaster! I know that I’m not okay, but I’m never going to be _able_ to forget what happened!” Cisco took a few shaky breaths and stared across the room at Hartley for some kind of support.

     His voice dropped down to a breathy whisper as what he had said dawned on him. “I’ll never be able to be to forget… I’m just so lost now, I tried to be perfect for so long, but it’s just not worth the pain anymore. I just can’t pretend that I’m not broken beyond repair. I can’t pretend I’m the same person that I used to be before this all happened. I can't lie to anyone anymore. Yes, I’ve killed people, and I’ve done so many things I should regret, but I _don’t_ regret any of it. I just can’t pretend I’m not broken.”

     The anger he had felt was gone, faded away and replaced by a bone aching sadness. Cisco wrapped his arms around himself, the leather of his jacket creaking as it moved. He pushed himself away from the wall and stepped over the badly mended floor and up to the main computers and the seat where he always used to be. Whether or not he chose to believe it, this was where he belonged. A member of the team. A part of Team Flash, a force for good. But he just didn’t know if that was who he was anymore. He didn’t know if he could be that person anymore, a lot had changed, maybe too much. Cisco closed his eyes and sighed softly. This little reunion had been a mistake.

     “You’re going to be alright, Cisco.” Without opening his eyes, Cisco knew that it was Hartley talking, trying to comfort him the best he could. “You’re strong; you can get through this.”

      “No,” Cisco shook his head in disagreement, tears drying on his cheeks. “You’re wrong Hartley; I’m never going to be able to move past what Thawne did to me. I’m always going to be _weak_.”

     “No, you’re not weak Cisco.” Hartley stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Cisco in a show of comfort and of support. “You’ve made it this far, you can make it through this.”

     Cisco leaned into the contact, resting his forehead on Hartley’s shoulder, just trying to enjoy the feeling of someone holding him close. And maybe the fact that it was Hartley had something to do with it, but Cisco wasn’t one to cuddle and tell. “I know I’ve made it this far, but I’m just having a hard time with this. Just, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I shouldn’t have come here, why did I think this was a good idea?”

     “Because quite a lot of your ideas are good ideas.” Hartley stroked Cisco’s hair and discreetly planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Now you can’t quote me on that, so how about you finish what you started here instead?”

     Cisco took a deep breath and untangled himself from Hartley’s embrace, turning back to the rest of the team. He nervously smiled, dried the tears from his eyes and shuffled his feet. “Uh, I feel like I already said much more than I intended, and I'm sorry for yelling. I've been drinking too much and taking too much Vertigo, and it's been messing with my emotions. But if anyone else has something to add to this, I don’t think I can call it a discussion at this point, but if there’s anything anyone wants to add just go for it, no stupid questions, no wrong answers.”

     Barry stepped forward, a look of confusion on his face. “I have one. Why did you punch me in the face at that attempted Rogues heist?”

     Cisco shrugged, “I told you not to touch me, but you didn’t listen. Had to send a message, you know how it is. Someone doesn’t listen you need to put them back in their place.”

     “I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

     “Well, I was pretty drunk at the time, so there’s that. I know it’s not an excuse, but I’m still not going to apologize for punching you.” Cisco smirked, “it was a good punch, and you definitely deserved it.”

     Barry huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes, “I guess I should have listened to you then.”

     “ _Duh_ ,”  Cisco stood a little taller, feeling more confident as he talked. “Oh, I will apologize for throwing beer bottles at your head. That was just rude and inconsiderate, and being drunk does _not_ excuse my actions, even if it was hilarious. So I am very, very, sorry, I should not have done that.

     “Apology accepted with some significant reluctance.”

     Joe shook his head, “alright, aside from throwing beer bottles at my kids head, what the hell have you been doing out there Cisco? None of the detectives have been able to track you down and from what I’ve seen from the security footage you’re a more experienced fighter than anyone else on the team.” He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “How are you doing all this?”

     Cisco shrugged, “you know how it is, it’s a dog eat dog world out there on the street, and if you’re not top dog somebody else will be. I just picked these things up because I needed to. And maybe I was the leader of a gang, but you know how Detroit is.” He cast his eyes around the room, “does anyone else have any questions, or comments, or even complaints?”

     From across the room, Jesse raised her hand awkwardly. “Quick question over here, where have you been the past week? Seriously, nobody’s been able to find you.”

     “Well, I was in the dumpster behind Little Italy for a few nights, in a creepy warehouse down in Lawrence Hill’s for a few more, and Hartley’s apartment for the past two days. I prefer the apartment; there’s no chance of waking up with a shirt full of raccoons.” Cisco chuckled, the raccoons had been his least favorite part of sleeping in that dumpster. Even worse than that stench.

     “You’re living with Hartley now?” Barry wanted to know more, but he also didn’t want to press the issue, especially having already seen how stressed he was. “That’s… cool? Also, seriously, _raccoons_?”

     “Yep, raccoons! And I ate a dumpster pizza!” Cisco frowned, he probably shouldn’t be so proud of eating that pizza, but he’d been hungry and desperate. “It was _not_ good. I think it might have been old, or maybe it was just terrible pizza, but I dunno. It was awful, just completely disgusting. Negative two out of ten, would not recommend.” He perked up and smiled, “but Hartley’s nice, he made pancakes and did my laundry! He didn’t need to do that; he’s just thoughtful!”

     “Dammit Cisco, stop talking about that dumpster pizza, it’s gross!” Hartley shook his head, a grin curving his lips. “But go ahead and continue to compliment me, I’m cool with that.”

     “Whatever nerd,” Cisco brushed his hair away from his face, a light blush gracing his cheekbones. “So, is anybody hungry? Pizza, or maybe burgers? Caitlin interrupted our lunch date earlier, and I am just _famished_.”

     Barry shrugged, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he talked. “I, uh, I guess we can order some pizza, is that cool with everyone?”

     Caitlin nodded, “yeah, that’s fine with me. And sorry about the date thing, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

     Cisco smiled and shuffled his feet awkwardly, “no, no, don’t worry about it, it’s not a problem.” He might have been stretching the truth with that last bit; it might not be a _problem_ , but it still wasn’t a great situation. Cisco would have preferred to at least finish the date first, but you can’t have it all. He continued to talk as he thought, addressing the entire team once more. “I’m really sorry for yelling at all of you; it’s just been tough for me to process all my emotions instead of ignoring them. And maybe the drinking and the drugs haven’t been helping, but I’m trying to quit and to do better. I’ve just been so _angry_ this past month, and I shouldn't blame you for that, it's my own problem. It’s not something I should have taken out on you guys, but the anger is something that I need to learn to deal with.” Cisco shrugged, “so, are we good? Is the team back together?”

     Barry and Caitlin exchanged a quick glance and a nod before Caitlin spoke. “Sure thing Cisco, the team is back together.”

     The rest of the time passed quickly, almost a blur. But to Cisco, it felt as if time had slowed to a slow crawl. Was he ready to be part of the team again? Is this really what he wanted? His mind was racing even as he pretended to be calm and collected.  ' _I just guess I'll have to wait and see if I made the right choice.'_


	28. What Do You Know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long update time, my new job had a very interesting schedule, and I'm still trying to fix my sleep schedule.

   “Barry, there’s been a break-in down at First National Bank, looks like it might be a meta, but it's not likely.” Cisco drummed his fingers nervously on the desk; he was more than a little anxious about being back on the team after so long. And maybe a part of him wanted to be the one down at that bank instead of just being on the coms. “So, Caitlin, how’s everything been without me here? Did Harry take over my lab?” Cisco was trying to keep the conversation light; he didn’t feel comfortable without Hartley by his side.

   “No, but things have been weird.” Caitlin could tell that Cisco was uncomfortable, but she could also see that he was trying his best. “Barry’s been running around being Barry, Jesse and Harry have been working the computers, and it just hasn’t been the same.”

   Cisco kept his eyes on the computer screen, “I’m sure it hasn’t been.” He heard what Caitlin wasn’t saying. It wasn’t the same because they knew exactly _why_ he had left them. “If it means anything, I want to say sorry for how I’ve acted. I shouldn’t have lost control like that. So, uh, _sorry_ .” _‘God, way to sound insincere! I wish Hartley were here; this is just so stressful.’_ But Hartley was out with the Rogues for the day, some kind of bonding trip.

   Whatever, they were probably stealing things. The past few days had been interesting with Hartley being there, with Cisco realizing just how much he cared about him and how much he needed him. There’s just something so freeing about having someone see your flaws and mistakes and still thinks that you are wonderful the way you are instead of trying to look past them and trying to change you because of them. They had yet to attempt a second date, and Cisco was terrified that if they did then at any moment, Hartley would realize the kind of person he was with and would run screaming for the hills. It was irrational and stupid, but he was still afraid of it happening.

   “No need to apologize Cisco, none of this was your fault.” Caitlin was always the level headed one, and at the moment Cisco was thankful for that. Talking to Caitlin was easy, but he couldn't put off talking to the rest of them.

   “I know that, but everything that’s happened this past month… I’ve killed people, and that’s not the worst part.” Cisco stared down at his hands wondering what it would be like if the blood weren't always so easy to wash away, “I killed people and didn’t regret it, hell, I even  _liked_ it. I don’t know if I should even be on the team after everything I’ve done, but I do know I need to continue what I started. Make this world right even if it kills me.”

   “You don’t haven’t done anything that you need to make right, Cisco; that’s something that the rest of us have to do.” Harry walked through the doorway as he talked, careful to keep his distance. He knew just how Cisco might react, and he didn't like the idea of him being the one who would push Cisco further down the path he was taking. 

   Cisco kept his eyes glued to his computer screen, ignoring the way his mind told him to run just from hearing Harry’s voice. “I’m sorry, was I talking to you? And what exactly are you trying to say here?”  _'Don't worry about Harry, he's not as dangerous as you are.'_

   “It’s my fault you took to the streets, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to blame yourself for everything that’s happened.”

   “Well, I wouldn’t say I was blaming myself, but if you want to accept some kind of responsibility then go ahead, that’s your prerogative.” Cisco frowned then gritted his teeth and turned in his seat to face Harry. “Actually you know what? No, I’m _not_ going to let you feel guilty for my actions. I’m the one who killed all those people, and that’s my burden to bear, not yours.” He huffed out a sarcastic laugh and rolled his eyes. “It’s not much of a burden; I rather enjoyed most of it. Well, night terrors and being shot at not included, of course.”

   Harry could tell from the expression on Cisco’s face that he was telling the truth. He really had enjoyed what he’d done out there. “You can’t be serious.” Harry frowned, “dammit Cisco, I’m trying to apologize!”

   “Well, Harry, you’re doing a _terrible_ job of it!” Cisco crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “If you’re going to apologize, then you should do it right. A little more begging and groveling would be nice, you know? Maybe kiss my boots a bit?”  _'Okay Cisco, weird image. Very weird image.'_

   “I’m sorry?” Harry knew that empty platitude wasn’t enough, but he hoped this conversation could be held somewhere a little more private.

   “Nope, try again!” Cisco grinned, secretly reveling in Harry's discomfort. “I’ll be nice and give you a second, hell, even a third chance with that.”

   “Cisco, I’m sorry for dredging up something you would have rather died than have ever shared?”

   “Are you asking me, or telling me?” Cisco chuckled darkly and glared, “and it’s a little more complicated than that. More along the lines of, ‘Cisco, I’m sorry for forcing you to remember some of the worst parts of your life and at the same time letting everyone else see exactly what you were trying to recover from and ruining your life all over again.’ Maybe something like that?”

   Harry felt so much guilt, but there was more than that. Some part of him felt responsible for what Thawne had done, even though it didn’t make any kind of sense. “Look, Cisco I thought that I-”

   “You thought you were doing the right thing, but now you know you’ve done fucked that up, right?” Cisco took a deep breath and tried to calm himself back down with little success. “I don’t need any of your _pity_ dammit all! I don’t need your fucking _feelings!_  I just need time to work everything out, ‘kay? And I’m not going to keep playing the victim just because that’s what all of you think I am; I need to at least _try_ and get myself out of this! And if that means going out and beating the hell out of the scum that walks the streets then who the hell even cares?!”

   A gust of strong wind and a trail of lighting were the sign of Barry’s return. However, Cisco kept his look of anger trained on Harry. “Uh, guys?”

   “I don’t fucking care what any of you thinks about what I do out there at night; I’m not going to rest until I’m done!”

   Caitlin caught Barry’s attention, “I think Cisco just needs some space.”

   “No fucking way!” Cisco rolled his eyes and pushed himself out of his chair. “Maybe I just need some space, who’d have thought that!? I mean, it’s just unheard of!” The sarcasm was almost tangible, dripping off his words and rolling in waves around the room. “Not like _I_ would know when I need to be alone! Dios Mio, I just can’t deal with this… I can’t keep pretending that I’m not who I really am! This is just tearing me apart!”

   “What do you mean, Cisco?” Barry leaned casually against the table, using himself as a physical barrier between Cisco’s anger and Harry. “If you’re not who you are, then who are you?”

   “Do you really want to know? I know that you consider what I did in the past weeks to be monstrous, but this is... worse.” Cisco stepped up to the central computer, “once you read this you can’t forget it. So tell me,” he turned back to the group, an odd expression of both distrust and guarded pride on his face, “do you really want to know who I really am?” Without waiting for any kind of an answer, he began to type, bringing up his old Detroit Police Department arrest files.

   “This is who I really am.” Up on the screen were records of arrest after arrest, drugs, murder and mayhem, a rap sheet a mile long. A decent mug shot, though, he was young and his hair had been shorter then. He hadn't even been sixteen in that shot and he had smirked at the camera, two fingers raised in a 'v' and his eyes filled with the raging fire of someone who had to be top dog at any cost.

   Cisco gritted his teeth, as he decided to risk it all and lay it all down on the line. They could either accept this, or that would be it. “I’m a killer, I’m a criminal, I’m the sort of person I help put in the pipeline and the prison. I’m not a good guy; I’m not a hero. I’m a liar and drug addict and a murderer. I'm never going to not be those things, this is who I was made to be. But it wasn't someone else who made me into a monster, it was myself all along. And now that you fucking know who I am, you can’t pretend you don’t know what I’m doing out there every night. You can’t act like you didn’t know I’ve been out there in the darkness doing what you won’t dare.”  

   "Cisco, this is... that..." Barry just stopped, unable to find the words to convey his horror. "Is this true?"

   "Every damn word. And this is only what they could prove."

   Harry was quiet as he read the rap sheet. Over thirty charges of murder before the age of sixteen. What kind of life was that for a person? And what kind of person could take that life filled with blood and pain and make something out of it? "How did you get tangled in this mess, Cisco? How the hell did you get dragged down into it?"

   "I didn't 'get dragged down' or get 'tangled' into that life. It was the only thing I could do to stay alive." Cisco tried to keep his voice steady, sure that at any second he would hear sirens in the distance, one of his friends selling him out to the cops. "And hell, it wasn't the worst choice, really."

   "But Cisco, how could you just act so..." Barry still couldn't make the connection between the blood-soaked history on the screen and his friend. "How could you keep this hidden?"

   "Genius, remember?" Cisco pulled in a shaky breath, realizing finally that he wasn't being turned over to the police. "Caitlin, you have anything to add?"

   Caitlin shook her head, “only this. I _so_ knew that you were the vigilante. The moment I saw the coat I knew it.”

   “Took you that long?” Cisco scoffed and shrugged. “Let me guess, the rest of you also didn’t figure it out until I came here with Hartley?”

   “Yeah, that’s about it.”

   “Damn, you are all atrocious at being detectives.” He smirked and continued, playful sarcasm in his tone. “Please, do me a solid and never join the police force.”

   Awkward and stiff silence filled the Cortex, broken by the breathing of four desperate people and the steady hum of electricity.

   Brushing his hair out of his eyes, Cisco sighed. “Look, I’m, I’m sorry for not trusting you guys. I just-”

_*Ring-ring*_

_*Ring-ring*_

   “Oh shit!” Cisco pulled a phone out of his pocket and for a moment did nothing but listen to the sound of the ringtone. “Hartley made me get a phone before he left today, wanted us to be able to keep in touch while he’s out with the Rogues.” Cisco stared down at the ringing piece of technology and sighed softly. He tried his best to mask what was left of his cooling rage, not wanting Hartley to pick on on it. “Hey, Hartley, how’s it going?” He turned away from the group, not wanting them to see the soft smile curling his lips.

   “I’m doing great, but I just wanted to check up on you before the rest of the Rogues drop me off at the labs in a little bit. How are you doing?”

   “You mean how am I doing without you here? Well, it’s not great.”

   “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did you get into a fight with your team?” Hartley sounded worried, almost panicked, and even over the phone, Cisco could tell that wherever he was, he was pacing. “Cisco, are you okay?”

   “Hartley, I’m fine. I just… I was just upset earlier, but I’m, I’m better now.” Cisco sighed softly, “yeah, I’m better now. I just don’t… I miss you.”

   “You do?” Hartley was quiet like he didn’t want anyone on his end to hear what he was saying. “Do you really miss me?”

   “I really do miss you.” Cisco wandered away from the group, leaning against the curved walls of the hallway. “I’m just, I’m a little frustrated right now. Getting back into the swing of things is a little more difficult than I had expected. It's just hard to get along without getting pissed off all the time.”

   Hartley laughed softly, “it's only been a day, but getting along with those goody-two-shoes is some kind of impressive accomplishment.”

   “Do I get a gold medal?” Cisco grinned, “or at least a plastic participation trophy? Maybe some candy?”

   “I’ll give you some sort of a consolation prize when we get home.” Hartley paused, obviously worried he had gone too far with his joking and veiled innuendo. It was either that or the way he had called the apartment ‘home’ without any kind of thought.

   “I’m going to hold you to that, nerd.”

   “I, um, I’ll see you soon, Cisco.” The flat sound of the dial tone filled the air, and Cisco ended the call on his end. He stood in silence, holding his phone against his chest in hopes of some kind of comfort. He missed Hartley, but he would see him soon. And as for his consolation prize… well, he was very interested in collecting that.


	29. Rogue Emotions

   The hallway is quiet compared to the low murmur of conversation in the Cortex. Leaning against the wall as he is, Cisco can feel the subtle vibrations of the building itself. It’s calming in an odd way, like the sound of rain on a roof while in the middle of a strong storm.

   Cisco breathed deeply as he leaned against the cool bricks of the wall, what he and Hartley had said on the phone… it wasn’t how the two of them normally spoke. But things between them had been changing, the dynamic shifting from friendship to something more complex. Something that Cisco couldn’t identify, no, something he didn’t _want_ to identify. It was something fragile, but growing stronger each day. And maybe he liked it.

   He liked the nervous glances, thrived on the long conversations and the awkward brushes of the hand.  Embraced the way the two of them both pretended they didn’t feel the force driving them together. He loved all of it, just loving the experience of falling in love.

   And the two of them both know how it’s going to end. They might fumble and stutter around one another, but it’s still so easy to see the pieces fall into place.

   Cisco sighed, he needed to get out of here. This day was just too much, and that argument with the team earlier was still weighing heavily on his mind. He just needed to go back to the apartment and figure out where he was going from there.

   The tension in the air is still there, but it’s slowly fading away being replaced with casual conversations about nothing in particular. Cisco took a deep breath before stepping back through the hallway doorway into the Cortex. “So, it’s been fun today, but I need to go back to the apartment when Hartley gets here.” Cisco wasn’t quite comfortable with calling Hartley’s apartment ‘home’ yet, but maybe in a few weeks, he would be.

   “Wait, _how_ exactly is he supposed to be getting here?”

   “The rest of the Rogues are dropping him off.” Cisco stepped over to his chair and pulled on his jacket, slipping into the well-worn leather. “I’m gonna go meet them outside.”

   “Hold on; I’ll walk you out.” Barry quickly stepped into sync with Cisco, the two of them heading towards the exit. “Also, the Rogues are coming _here_?!”

   “Well, yeah.” Cisco raised his hands in a ‘no shit’ gesture, “where else did you think they were going to go? The mall? Buffalo Wild Wings?”

   Barry rolled his eyes, “oh, I don’t know, how about _anywhere_ else? Like, to _jail_ , maybe? I hear Iron Heights has some openings.” Barry frowned, “besides, it doesn’t set a good precedent for our enemies to visit us!” Besides, the Arrow is going to find out about it somehow, and then Barry will never hear the end of it. Oliver would be on his case about this for weeks to come. He could imagine it already, ' _your relationships with your Rogues concerns me, you're giving me an ulcer._ ' Barry just hoped he wasn't going to wake up to an arrow aimed at his face.

   “They’re not _my_ enemies, just yours. They like me for some reason.” Cisco grinned and adjusted his jacket, brushing down the leather. “Besides, you just don’t want to see your number one fanboy!”

   “What are you talking about?” Barry blushed lightly; it was obvious he knew exactly what Cisco was talking about. “I don’t have a _fanboy_.” There was no way he would admit that Len was a die hard fan of the Flash, and there was no way in hell that he would admit to liking it. Deny, deny until you die.

   “You saying that it’s just a coincidence that Snart is _always_ waiting for you to break up his crimes? Just always waiting for you to chase him?” Cisco shook his head and laughed quietly. “No way in hell is that a coincidence man. And I might have overheard something that all but proves my point.”

   “I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

   “Alright, you just keep on doing that.” Cisco glared at the harsh light as the two of them stepped outside. God, the sun was some sort of evil. Or maybe it was the fact that he was always going out at night punching people, you know, whichever of those makes more sense.

   Barry laughed at Cisco’s reaction to the sunlight. “I will thank you very much. I don’t know, just the idea of Snart being a, I don’t know, some kind of superfan-”

   “ _'_ _Superfan_?’ Was that pun intended?” Cisco laughed, imagining Captain Cold trying to get the Flash's autograph.

   “No, just a happy accident. But the idea of him being a superfan is just too much for me. He’s supposed to be a criminal, not some kind of a fanboy. I’d rather us just be rivals.” He paused, an odd look on his face. “Well, maybe for now.”

   “Whatever Barry. Just thought you should know you have an obsessed fan.” Cisco looked out at the empty parking lot, watching the streets. “Here they are now.”

   A brown, four-door, sedan driven by Mick Rory pulled up, Hartley and Lisa sitting in the back seat and Len right between them with a frown of discomfort. In the passenger seat sat an absolute beast of a dog, a familiar dog with a bright orange collar labeled as ‘Hulk.’

   “Alright loser, get your ass out of my car.”

   Hartley opened the door and was immediately shoved out onto the pavement by Len. “Geez, I’m going, I’m going!”

   “You better be, I hate sitting in the middle!” Snart crossed his arms and tried to look tough, but from the low level of the car he just looked like an upset child.

   Cisco leaned in the window of the car and petted the dog he had once saved. “Hulk! Aw, who’s a good boy! You’re a good boy!”

   Mick nodded and ruffled the fur on the dogs head. “Yeah, he’s been a good dog. The new house is doing great for his attitude, but he chases the mailman, though.” And maybe Mick thought that was absolutely hilarious, but he wouldn't say that. 

   “What dog doesn’t?” Cisco ruffled Hulk’s ears, “what have you been feeding him, he’s looking great!”

   Hartley picked himself off the pavement and brushed down his clothes before standing next to Cisco and glaring angrily at the dog. “Ugh, what _hasn’t_ he been feeding him? That damn animal ate four cheeseburgers on the drive to the park! _Four_!”

   “Wait, you guys went to the park?” Barry laughed silently at the mental image of Len and Mick playing on a swingset before he tuned back into the response.

   Len groaned dramatically, “not even. It wasn’t the real park; it was the damn _dog_ park. It was all Mick’s idea; I should have known he was just doing it for his _dog_.”

   Lisa rolled her eyes and elbowed her brother a little harder than necessary. “ _I_   for one am not a heartless monster and love the dog; I just hate that he made us sit in the back!”

   “ _Yeah_ Mick, why did we have to sit in the back?”

   “Why, Len?” Mick glared into his rearview mirror. Well, I say he glared, but with Mick, every expression is a glare. He glared into the mirror back at Snart, “you want to know _why_ you’ve been delegated to the back seat? It’s because you called my dog a lardass!”

   “Well he _is_ a lardass, you feed him too much!”

   “Shut up; he’s my dog, not yours!”

    The Rogues that were still in the car bickered angrily at each other while Cisco snuggled the dog who was just as damaged as he was and the two people on the outside pretended they couldn’t hear any of them.

   Hartley leaned with one arm against the roof of the car and raised an eyebrow. “So, Barry, how’s um, how’s all your Flash stuff going?” Small talk was most definitely not Hartley’s strong suit as one can see.

   “It’s good, hero work and all that. You know, just life in the fast lane, the whole package deal.” Barry cringed at himself internally, god, _life in the fast lane?_ Why the fuck did he say that?! What was  _wrong_ with him?!

   “Good, that’s good I guess.” Hartley awkwardly shrugged, “I wouldn’t know about the hero stuff, that’s not my area of expertise.”

   Barry crossed his arms uncomfortably. “So, how’s the Rogues? The life of crime treating you right?”

   “I’m not really with the Rogues anymore, I mean, just _look_ at them!” Mick had turned around in the driver's seat and was angrily smacking Len with a dog toy that was squeaking pathetically with each impact. Lisa was laughing like a maniac and Cisco had all but climbed into the car to cuddle the friendly lump of muscle in the passenger seat. The entire car was shaking from the jostling of its occupants, and the creaking of the axles was a little worrying. “That’s just too much crazy for me.”

   “Good point.” Barry nodded awkwardly, “so they’re, what?”

   “Just my friends.” He sighed, rolling his eyes at the sound of Len’s protests to being beaten with a dog toy. “My really terrible and annoying friends.”

   “I see,” Barry lowered his voice, knowing that Hartley could still hear him. “So, how are you doing? With everything that’s going on with, well, you know? How’s Cisco adjusting to everything?”

   Hartley lowered his voice so Cisco wouldn’t hear, but in reality, there was no way he would have heard them over the commotion. “Cisco’s been great. He’s been doing really well. Not running blind into the night with just a baseball bat anymore. Planning his outings better and coming home safe after he goes out. He also hasn’t killed anyone lately, which is a plus I guess, and he’s been sober for almost two days. But I’m still worried that he might relapse with the drugs and alcohol. I know that I can trust him on that, and I do, but I still worry.”

   “Just call me if you really get worried or if he doesn’t come back to your apartment after he goes out. You have my number, right?”

   “Uh, _duh_ , you _know_ that I have your number.” Hartley shuffled as he watched Cisco climb further into Mick’s car where Snart was still getting beaten with a constantly squeaking dog toy. “You’re the one who called me in a panic earlier this month, remember?”

   “Yeah, I remember.” Barry tried not to laugh at the scene in front of them. It was just, it was just _hilarious_ , not that he would say anything.

   Hartley tapped on Cisco’s leg which was sticking out of the car window. “Uh, Cisco? Want to head on out to the apartment soon?”

   “Yeah, just saying bye to Hulk!” Cisco pulled himself out of the car window, before leaning back in for a moment. “Mick, we should hang out sometime. I promise I won’t punch you in the face this go around.”

   “Sounds like a plan,  _Paco_ .” Mick smacked Len with the dog toy one last time before he revved the engine of his crappy sedan which rattled in response. “See you soon, _nerds_!”

   “Did he just call us nerds?” Barry waved in confusion as the car drove off at reckless speeds, tires squealing and rubber burning on the pavement.

   Hartley nodded and brushed himself down again. “Yep.”

   “Yeah, that’s Mick for ya.” Cisco grabbed Hartley’s hand, and the two of them headed off to the middle of the city, to the apartment both of them were more than happy to call home.

 

****

 

   “So, how was the dog park?”

   Hartley smiled softly, “well, there were a lot of dogs.”

   “Wow, who’d have thought that the _dog park_ would have _dogs_ !” Cisco smirked and nudged Hartley with his shoulder as they walked. “Stop the presses everyone; Hartley has some big news! Sound the alarms! Alert the media! Call the governor! No, phone the _president_! There are dogs in the dog park!”

   “You cut that out!” Hartley grinned and tightened his grip on Cisco’s hand. “If you keep up that sarcasm I’ll have to do something about it.”

   “What, exactly?” Cisco heart was racing, he knew his tone was on the edge of flirtatious, but he was still scared of getting close to another person. “How are you going to stop me? You know what I’m able to do, so how is the scary, so very _dangerous_ , Pied Piper going to stop me?”

   Hartley blushed and stammered nervously, “um, I’ll do, uh, _something_ that will stop you, that’s for sure.” 

   Cisco laughed and pushed his hair from his eyes with his free hand. “You going to eat all the Thai food while I’m on patrol again?”

   “No, and I told you that the Thai food fell into an interdimensional wormhole of some kind. I mean, _I_ certainly didn’t eat it!” Hartley felt his cheeks burn hot under Cisco’s gaze. “Yeah, an interdimensional portal must have opened up in the fridge and just swallowed up all the leftovers!”

   The two of them rounded the corner to the apartment building, and Cisco held open the front door for Hartley. “Right, how on Earth could I ever forget something like that?” Cisco followed Hartley up the stairs to the apartment. “It’s just such a believable story, isn’t it?”

   “Oh yes, so very believable!”

   Cisco laughed and pulled Hartley into a tight hug the moment the apartment door closed behind them. “I’m glad you’re back, even if you were only gone for a little while.”

   “Aw, I’m glad to be back. I missed you while I was out.” And Hartley meant it; he had missed him. “I, um, I wanted to talk to you about something I said on the phone earlier. You know, about, uh…”

   “About my… _consolation_ prize?” Cisco smiled shyly, his heart racing. He loosened his grip on Hartley and his hands instinctively settled so one was on Hartley’s hip and the other gently rested on his shoulder. “I really should collect that, shouldn’t I?”

   “You should-Mphf!” Whatever Hartley was going to say was cut off by Cisco’s lips crashing against his own in a wave of heat and sweetness.

   The kiss was shy, closed mouthed and soft, the sort of kiss you have back in middle school before you know anything about kissing. It was almost chaste, sweet and innocent. But charged with emotions too complex to put into words, amazement, joy, fear, and even awe.  

   Cisco pulled away slowly, the only readable expression on his face was overwhelming love. Love for the man he held and love for the way the two of them could help each other.

   “I… I want you to know just how, how much…” Cisco faltered, unable to say the three little words that could change everything. “I just…words...” It was just too hard, even if he knew that they both felt the same way. “You make me feel things, things I thought I would never be able to feel again. And I don’t know if you feel the same way, but this, what we have here, is more than anything I could have asked for.”

   “Do you really mean all that?”

   “Of course I do, Hartley.” Cisco gazed into Hartley’s eyes, trying his hardest to let his feelings show. “You make my life better; you saved me from myself when I didn’t want to be saved. I just can’t say enough how much I…” Cisco trailed off softly, hoping he was getting his point across.

   “I know. I know exactly what you mean, and I love you too Cisco.” Hartley smiled and laughed softly, pulling Cisco back in for a soft kiss. God, this was more than he could have asked for, more than he felt deserved. 

 

****

 

   It’s been a few hours, and Cisco can still feel the gentle press of Hartley’s lips against his own. Cisco smiled as he punched a criminal in the jaw, dropping them to the concrete. He couldn’t be angry right now; he felt like he was walking on clouds; everything was perfect. Nothing could throw off his groove, not even a throwdown with some thugs in the middle of the road.

   He ducked a slow, wide and wild haymaker, and kicked the person who had thrown it right in the knee, hearing the sickening crunch of the kneecap as their leg was twisted in ways not intended by nature. Cisco twisted out of the way of the next crooks poorly aimed punch, letting their momentum carry them directly into a street sign, knocking them to the ground where they stayed, groaning and holding their head.

   Cisco drove his fist into the face of the last gangster standing, their unconscious form joining the rest of them on the pavement. There shouldn’t have been this many people at a simple bank robbery; this was an ambush. Someone knew he would be coming here and had laid a trap for when that happened. And it wasn’t that bad of a trap, just poorly thought out. If these people had been better equipped, Cisco didn’t want to dwell on what might have happened in that situation.

   He kicked over one of the unconscious gangsters, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the patch sewn onto the back of the denim jacket. A black skull with a white spade in the forehead. Looks like the Detroit Skulls were moving further into the city at long last. He hadn’t expected this for another few weeks at the least.

   “So this is how we meet, greaseball.” Out of the back of the shadows of the buildings stepped an angry looking woman with close-cropped black hair and a worn out denim jacket.  And if Cisco was right, he knew exactly who this was. “You’ve been interfering with the work of my crew; I’ve seen the tags around the city, Paco. You've made yourself an enemy out of the media here, it shouldn't be that hard for me to take that and spin it to my advantage.”

   Cisco frowned, and the scar on his back twinged in pain. “Well Slice, this isn’t your turf! This city isn’t yours to take!” This was bad; he knew that if it came to it he could take Slice down for good, but now? No, he didn’t want to have to kill someone unless someone's life depended on it.

   Slice stepped forward slowly, signature knives not present in her hands for once. She wasn’t here to kill him; she was here to make a threat. Make an impression. She was here to send a message. “Well, we’ll just wait and see about that, greaseball. City Center at noon tomorrow. Let’s finish this for good this time.”

   “What, you want me to kill you?” Cisco folded his arms across his chest, nodding down at the thugs knocked flat on the pavement. “This isn’t going to go well for you.”

   “It won’t be you doing the killing, Paco, but I encourage you to try.” She slipped back into the shadows, leaving no trace of her presence behind. “Be there, or this city will fall to its knees.”

   “Not if I have anything to say about it, it won’t.”


	30. Prize Fight

    Cisco got back to the apartment later than he meant to, the dawn chasing at his heels like a hungry beast as he thought over what he’d just started. “City Center at noon tomorrow.” Why did he have to get involved?

    He’s started a damn war, and he knew what he would have to do to end this. He would need to kill Slice before she had the chance to kill him. Cisco just hoped that Hartley would be able to forgive him for killing again. Sure, he hadn’t exactly promised to stop, but it was sort of implied. The same with the drugs and alcohol. He hadn’t made any promises, but he couldn’t bring himself to let Hartley down like that. Just remembering the look Hartley had given him when he’d seen the needle tracks in his arm… it had been almost physically painful to see that look of sadness. No way was he going to deal with that again. Or at least not without being emotionally prepared first.

    He kicked off his boots before walking further into the one place that had actually felt safe the past week. There’s still leftovers sitting out on the coffee table, but he can’t bring himself to eat right now. He knew that the cold pizza and breadsticks wouldn’t stay down no matter how he tried. He’s still hopped up on adrenaline and can feel the beginnings of Vertigo withdrawal curling like an ice-cold snake knotting in his gut. He pulls off his bloody gloves and drops them onto the table before he does something stupid to spread the blood around the apartment. He doesn’t want to irritate Hartley, actually, no, who is he kidding, irritating Hartley is hilarious, but blood is hard to get out of the carpet. So instead, he heads into the small bathroom, staring angrily at his reflection, taking in everything that he can see.

    His hair’s grown out past his shoulders, almost a quarter of the way down his upper arm. It’s the first thing that he notices. He runs his hand through it carefully, feeling it pull through his fingers with ease. He rather likes how it looks, the dark waves framing his face. He has at least five days worth of stubble, making him look rough and a little dangerous. It’s a good look, but no one he ever thought he would be able to pull off.

    The dark shadows under his eyes have faded from the deep bruise black to a softer shade of grey, and the hollowness of his cheeks has all but disappeared. Cisco took off his jacket, dropping it to the bathroom floor where his shirt and pants soon joined it. He slowly unwrapped the bandages on his arms, the freshest of the cuts are finally healing over, raised scars fading to pale white against the natural tan of his skin. His ribs are no longer visible, but he can still feel them protruding more than they should be when he runs his fingers over them.

    His breath his hot against the glass of the mirror and he can feel tears prickle at the back of his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s crying until the feeling slammed through him with all the destructive force of a catastrophic hurricane in a coastal town.

     _Happiness_.

    He's actually happy here. He's happy with who he's becoming, and he’s happy with his life. He's happy with Hartley. Hot tears roll slowly down his cheeks, and he swipes them away before they can fall. A small smile worked its way across his face, and he leaned his forehead against the cold glass trying to steady himself. It's been months since he could honestly say that he was happy without wondering if he was just lying to himself.

    Cisco drew in a choked breath and wiped the fresh tears away from his eyes. “Dammit Cisco, here you go crying again.” His voice is quiet in the small bathroom, barely rising above a whisper. “For fuck's sake get a grip!” He shook his head, trying to force the smile away from his face. It didn’t work.

    He stripped out of what’s left of his clothing and climbed into the shower, running the water just over the edge of hot; trying to let the heat ease the tension from the night out of his shoulders. The steady beat of water drummed down on his back, thick clouds of steam rising from around his ankles and billowing up to his chest.

    A low moan of satisfaction rattled through his chest, the hot water soothing away his worries. Cisco rolled his shoulders and leaned up against the shower wall the cold tiles sending shivers down his spine. He slowly rinsed the blood off his cracked and bruised knuckles, his fingertips brushing gently against sore, red skin. "Fuck, that stings," his voice was drowned out by the sound of running water and the sound of his own breathing. He rolled his shoulders, finally fully relaxing from his night. Cisco ran his hands through his hair, grimacing at the sight of the blood and grime rinsing down the drain. “Gross…” He grabbed the body wash, lathering the generic soap in his hair letting the remainder of the night wash away down the drain.

    Minutes passed, and as the water began to turn to cold, Cisco turned off the shower and stepped out into the steam filled bathroom. Cisco grabbed a towel off the shelf, drying himself off roughly, ignoring the sting of the bruises he’d gained on patrol. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Cisco picked his clothes up off the floor and stepped back into the comparative chill of the living room. He changed into the only other clothes he had, settling back onto the couch and setting the alarm on his phone for a few hours.

    Maybe the fight wouldn’t change anything, but Cisco didn’t want to get his hopes up too high. There was no chance in hell that he would be able to stay here, no way that he could stay in Central. He took a shaky breath, trying to clear his head so he could sleep to no avail, so instead, he found himself trying to focus on the sounds of the apartment.

    Cisco stared at the ceiling from his place on the couch. The apartment was quiet; the only sound was Hartley softly snoring from his bedroom. Cisco smiled gently; the fact that Hartley snored was still funny. It’s not something you would expect from someone so straight-laced and proper. Not something you would expect out of Hartley. 

    Cisco rolled over onto his side, focusing on the sound of Hartley in the other room. Time slipped by, and as the minutes passed into nothingness, Cisco closed his eyes, letting sleep overtake him at last.

 

****

 

    Cisco flipped the eggs in the pan, keeping himself from listening to Hartley humming in the shower.

    _"Come on, don’t say that you’re not tempted.”_ The specter of Thawne leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed in mock deference while he spoke. Thawnes mannerisms with Well’s appearance was just creepy. _“You can’t lie to me! I know that you really just want to slip in there and take a little peek, maybe a little-”_

    “Dammit Thawne, why you still here?!” Cisco shook the pan angrily, glad for the distraction from Hartley’s sounds from the shower. “What the hell do you even want?”

    Hallucination Thawne shrugged, almost as if he actually didn’t know how to answer the questions that Cisco was asking. _“How the hell should I know, I’m your damn hallucination! See a therapist or something!”_

    Cisco rolled his eyes, refusing to keep talking to a figment of his imagination. Maybe if he just tried real hard… Nah, no way in hell was that going to work, he should just see a therapist. He shook his head, deciding that maybe listening to Hartley, oh god now he was moaning, in the shower was a better option. Cisco slid the finished eggs onto the plate, the sound of Hartley’s soft whimpers acting as a backtrack to plating breakfast.

     _“Damn, that sounds good.”_ Hallucination Thawne quirked an eyebrow and leered. _“You’re not going to do anything about that?”_

    “No!” Cisco glared and angrily dropped the loaded plates onto the coffee table and turned back into the kitchen. “No way!”

_“And why not?”_

    “Because I’m not some kind of a crazy person!”

     _“...”_ Hallucination Thawne rolled his eyes. _“Really. You’re uh, you’re talking to a hallucination, and you’re saying that you’re not a crazy person.”_

    “Well, you got me on that one, Thawne!” Cisco shoved the hot pans into the sink, trying to shove his anger to the back of his mind. Not that it ever worked. “I’m the crazy one here! Whatever.”

     _“Well, if you’re going to be like that-”_

    “And how else am I supposed to be?”

     _“I don’t think you’d appreciate my answer.”_

    “I’m sure I won’t, but why don’t you spell it out for me anyway?”

    “Cisco, who are you talking to? Is there someone here?” Hartley stepped out of the bathroom, steam rising from his wet skin.

    Cisco froze, eyes wide. He’d been distracted; he hadn’t heard Hartley get out of the shower. Hell, he hadn’t heard anything  _else_ that he’d done in there either.

    “Uhhh…” He glanced into the corner where Hallucination Thawne waved back at him jauntily with a crooked grin on his face. “Nobody! Just, uh, just don’t worry about it!”

    “...” Hartley flicked his gaze into the empty corner, he knew that Cisco wasn’t telling him something, but he wasn’t going to push it. “O-kay. I’m gonna go and... I'll be right back.”

    Cisco nodded awkwardly, and the moment Hartley disappeared into his bedroom he glared angrily back at the hallucination making itself at home in the kitchen. God, why was his brain doing this to him?

 Hallucination Thawne pouted, _“what_ , _you don’t want to tell him about me?”_

    “No, not really.”

_“Aww, you keep that up, and I might think you’re ashamed of me!”_

    Cisco frowned, “I’m not ashamed of you; I just hate you. Besides, you don’t exist!”

 _“Ah, touché.”_ Hallucination Thawne raised his eyebrows. _"Heads up, Piper on the loose."_

    "Shut up." Cisco turned his back on his hallucination, signaling the end of the conversation. "Hey Hartley, breakfast is on the table."

    “Hey, Cisco.” Hartley brushed damp hair away from his forehead, stepping over to the coffee table. "You didn't need to make breakfast-

    “Oh it was no big deal, I was already up.”

    “How was your night out?”

    Cisco frowned, trying to find the perfect descriptor. “It was _eventful_.”

    “Oh?” Hartley wanted to know more, but he wasn’t sure if he could stomach Cisco’s tales of violence and danger. “Do I want to know what you did or is it going to be too much for me?”

    “Well, I broke someone’s knee and-

    “ _Nope_! No way! Too much for me!” Hartley shook his head, pushing unbidden images from his mind. "Ugh, that's just _gross_!"

    “Alright, just know that I didn’t get hurt but as for the criminals… well, I can’t say the same for them.”

    “Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt.” Hartley smiled over the coffee table at Cisco. “So, are you going to go and spend time with Team Flash today?”

    “Nah, I’m gonna skip it. Things to do, places to be, justice to mete out, etcetera etcetera.” Cisco stared down at the table and avoided Hartley’s gaze as if making eye contact would force him to tell the truth. “Besides, I don’t need the Flash up in my business all day. It get’s a little overwhelming.”

    “I would guess so. So, where are you going to be today?” Hartley had the feeling Cisco was avoiding the subject, but he was still curious.

    “I’ve got to go into City Center in about an hour; you should stay out of the area.”

    “What are you going to do?” Hartley knew that Cisco wouldn't tell him about his 'work,' but he just wanted to know that he'd be alright out there. Hartley had promised to help Cisco through everything, but he wasn't sure he was keeping his promise.

    Cisco smiled, showing just a little too many teeth. “Hartley, you don’t want to know the things I’m gonna do when you’re not around.”

    “Just be careful.” Hartley knows that he can’t make him promise anything, but he’s still going to try. “Don’t get hurt out there.”

    “You know that I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best.”

 

***

 

    Central City can’t go long without some kind of fight between people with powers, a struggle between good and evil. But that’s not the case today. Right now it’s not between hero and villain, but between two long time enemies. This case isn't black and white, but instead is muddled shades of grey.

    Slice and Paco, rivals for the streets, facing off this time for the life of the other. History repeats itself. But this fight isn’t about a few grungy alleyways and some rooftops. It's not for street cred and it's not for power. This wasn’t about the past, but instead was for the future and who will shape it.

    The two of them circled each other in the center of the street, moving like venomous snakes preparing to strike. Cars stopped, and the people got out, the crowd around them growing. Jeers and cheers could be heard, and Cisco clenched his fists in rage. This city may not like him very much, but at least he knows that he has their support in this. This was too important to him, and even if the city doesn’t know it, it’s important to the city as well.

    Slice grinned maniacally, long knife clutched in each hand. “So, this is where you've been Greaseball. Knew you couldn’t cut it back in Detroit. I shoulda known you'd end up here with the rest of the _trash_.” She twirled her knives, the twin carbon steel blades flashing in the strong sun.

    Cisco continued to circle, trying not to let his anger consume him. “Whatever bitch, just square up already.” That nickname, God, he’d always hated it. “We fighting or no?”

    “I've seen your tags around town; I hear that you're some kind of _hero_ to this city.” Slice grinned her crooked grin, continuing to pontificate, “you know, last time we fought I lost, but not this time Greaseball. This time I’m gonna sweep the streets with your punk ass.”

    Cisco dropped his fists and raised an eyebrow behind his vibe goggles. “Wait, how is that supposed to work? Like, that makes no sense, I ain't a broom!”

    “Don’t question it, just get ready to get your ass kicked.” Slice leered, teeth as sharp as her knives. “You sent me to the hospital back then, but this time I’m sendin’ you straight to hell!”

    There was a rush of unnatural wind and a blur of familiar red. “No, I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen here today.” In between the two enemies stood the Flash, looking to be the absolute picture of a hero.

    “ _Dios_ ,” Cisco whispered under his breath before he sighed heavily, keeping his eyes on his target. Of course Barry would have to get in the middle of this too, he just can’t seem to leave anything alone. Damn self-sacrificing heroes.

    Slice grinned, “now who’s this all wrapped in red? Central City’s more famous hero, I presume? You come to watch the greaseball die in a blaze of glory?”

    Cisco snarled, “this isn’t your fight Flash, get outta here!” He kept circling slowly, the two combatants ready to lunge at a moments notice and rip out the throat of the other.

    “My city, my fight.”

    “Dammit, just get out of here before you get hurt. This isn’t about you!” Cisco ground his teeth, praying that Barry would stay back. He needed this fight more than he thought. This was one way that he could control his life, the only way he could control his past and his future.

    “Ooh, Paco looks like you don’t have any of the respect you used to get back in Detroit. Little Red Riding Hood here needs to be made an example of. Maybe I should shut his mouth for you, hmm?” Slice grinned and motioned threateningly with one of her knives. “Get something done around here for once.”

    “You just back the fuck off, Slice.” Cisco raised his fists once more and rolled his shoulders. “Let’s just do this already bitch.”

    “Ooh, _feisty_!” Slice grinned and took a small step forward, emboldened by adrenaline and plain arrogance. “Don’t you get it yet Paco? You’re nothing but a hood rat who got lucky, and you know what? Your good luck’s about to take a downturn for the worse.”

    “You never shut up do you?” The Flash frowned, “now how about you put down the knives and come quietly?”

    “I assure you Flash, that if I do come, it won’t be quietly.”

    “Did you just make a sex pun? That is just, ew, that is just going too far.” Barry stood awkwardly to the side, now too uncomfortable to close the distance. “Did she just do that?”

     “Yeah, she did do that.” Cisco shrugged, not sure what to say about that. Is there really anything to say about it? Your enemies aren't supposed to make sex jokes when you're fighting them; it just gets weird.

    Slice leered and licked her lips lasciviously, “you can bet your fine leather wrapped ass that I did.”

    Barry frowned, “it’s not _leather_!”

    “Fucking hell, Slice, can you stop being disgusting for five minutes so we can finish this? Jesus Christ.” Cisco rolled his eyes and steadied himself for the fight of his life. He needed to focus. He needed to win.

    “Sure thing Greaseball, I have places to be.” Slice rolled her shoulders and tossed her knives in the air, catching them both on the downswing. “Let’s get to the ass-kicking!”

    On her last word, she lunged forward, knives both aimed at Cisco’s heart. Cisco twisted out the path of the blades, throwing a wild punch at the side of Slice’s head as she barreled past him.

    His fist connected, but just barely, hardly making an impact on his opponent but just enough to change their trajectory. Cisco gritted his teeth as one of the blades skimmed over the leather of his jacket, not puncturing the surface, but still sending alarm bells ringing through his mind. Turning on his heel to round back on his opponent, Cisco ripped off his jacket before lunging forward, driving his fist into Slice’s ribcage.

    “Fuck, you actually landed one on me!” Slice scoffed, “you’re going to regret that you little shithead!” She slashed with one of her knives, slicing through the bandages on Cisco’s arm, fresh blood already rolling down.

    “ _Dios_! Bitch, you’re not walking away from this fight alive!”

    “Oh really, then show me what you got!”

    Conversation halted as the two of them fought, the only sound the sickening thud of fists on flesh and the heavy breathing of combat.

    A solid punch landed on Cisco’s face, and he felt his mouth filling up with the bitter taste of his own blood. He pulled the bandana down and away from his face, spitting red onto the pavement. He ran through the possibilities for this fight; he was still underfed, tired from being out all night fighting the city, and he could feel the beginnings of withdrawal symptoms curling in his gut once more. And on the other hand, there was Slice, honed from years on the streets and with twin blades that were sharper than razors. This might not be a fight he could win.

    There was a crowd now, civilians milling around watching the fight, the Flash standing in the front of the group, not daring to interfere, and right in the middle of it all was Hartley, an expression of worry on his face.

    “Fuck,” Cisco gritted out, wiping the blood off his face with the back of a gloved hand. “He shouldn’t be here. I told him to stay away.”

    “Who shouldn’t be here, Paco?” Slice grinned, raising her voice to a shout, knowing that everyone in the crowd could hear exactly what she was saying. “You got a little boy-toy now? Should I try and guess which one, or just kill you and see who cries over your icy corpse, you little faggot?”

    “Oh, you’re gonna be homophobic now?” Cisco spat another mouthful of blood onto the ground before rolling his shoulders and lifting his fists once more. “You’ll really pay for that one.”

    “Just give it your best shot sissy-boy.”

    Cisco lunged forward, landing a punch directly to Slice’s kidney sending her sprawling back across the pavement. With another swing of his fist, he caught her across the jaw and with a quick motion he grabs one of her knives, turning the razor sharp blade back on its owner. “You wanna see my best shot? I’ll show you my best shot.”

    “Now we’re talkin’!” Slice seemed to be enjoying this, laughing and reveling in the madness and the pain. She rolled her shoulders and dropped to a defensive stance preparing to kick the fight into the next gear.

    When Cisco lunged, he feigned to the left before darting back to the right, feeling the knife hit his target and slide home.

    “Oh fuck… you _sonofa_... “ Blood bubbled out of Slice’s mouth, dripping down into the street. She coughed, blood running down her face. “You actually got me… you piece of _shit_ …” Slice stumbled backward, swaying on her feet as blood blossomed across her side, spreading across the denim like an oil slick. “I’ll see you in... hah, see you in Hell, Paco.” Slice dropped to the ground like a stone, blood puddling around her body as Cisco backed away in panic.

    There’s blood on the knife in his hand. Blood on the pavement. Blood on his face. Blood on the corpse. Cisco dropped the knife, unwilling to believe it had been so easy even though he knew that it had been.

    So easy to cut that string and do something you can’t undo.

    The knife slipping between Slices ribs, the red spray of blood, the thud of a body dropping to the pavement.

    Easy.

    It shouldn’t ever be so easy to take a life.

    He'd always tried to distance himself with guns, and once with his own powers, but the knife… The knife brought an element of familiarity to this madness. He’d just crossed a line he didn’t even know that he was trying not to cross.

    Cisco stared wildly at the crowd, avoiding the look of horror on the Flash’s face, instead zeroing in on Hartley. He looked scared, but Cisco immediately decided he wasn't sticking around long enough to find out why.

    He couldn’t stay here, can’t risk staying in Central City. Can’t risk the Skulls coming after him where other people could get hurt. He can’t risk the danger to Hartley.

    So he does what he does whenever he can’t find a way out.

    He runs.

    He doesn’t care that Barry is already following him, doesn’t care that Hartley is pushing his way through the growing crowd and the increasing number of media vans. He can’t care, because if he does, he knows that he’ll break down all over again.

    So he runs, ducking down an alleyway and watched as Barry skid halfway past the alley entrance as he tried to stop. By the time he turned back to find him, Cisco was already halfway up a fire escape, climbing into an open window.

    “Cisco?” Barry hasn’t thought to look up, and Cisco stared down at him from the window, his chest heaving from the running, but mostly from the fear. “Where’d you go?”

    Hartley came running around the corner, already out of breath from the short distance. “Barry, have you seen Cisco?”

    “I swear I just had my eye on him, he was just here, but now…”

    “Are you fucking with me right now? How the hell did _Cisco_ outrun the fucking _Flash!_?”

    Barry shuffled in place and muttered, “...not for the first time either.”

    “And just how the hell does that happen?”

    “Hey, he’s… he’s faster than you think!”

    “Really.”

    Cisco rolled his eyes before stepping back from the window. He turned around getting ready to leave, only to come face to face with the impassive face of Leonard Snart. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus in the manger! Holy _fuck_! How are you so quiet?!”

    “I don’t think that the blame is on me right now.” Len flicked his gaze down to Cisco’s bloody hands, the leather slick with rapidly drying blood. “Now then, why are you in my apartment? Better question, why did you just climb into my _window_ like a crazy man?”

    “Uhhh…” Cisco cast his gaze around the room, trying to come up with an excuse other than, _‘I just murdered someone, again, and I’m running away from my problems. Again.’_

    Len shook his head and held up a hand. “No, nevermind. I’m sure it’s something important if you’re willing to break into my apartment over it.”

    “Thanks, I guess.” Cisco clenched his fists, nervously watching the door. “Didn’t know it was your apartment... "

    "Whatever. You know that leaving is going to piss Mick off, right? He’s never gonna be able to pay you back for that black eye." Len smirked, “and besides, what about that lardass dog of his? I'm sure that thing's going to miss you too.”

    "Mick’s always pissed off; that’s just how Mick works. And Hulk will be fine if I’m gone." Cisco crossed his arms nervously, "Look, Snart- _Len_ , it’s good to see you and all, but I just need to get out of town without Barry finding out. Or Hartley.”

    Len nodded, “if they ask me, I haven’t seen you.”

    “Cool, man. Heh, _cool_.” Cisco snickered at his half-assed wordplay. “Just, can you promise me something?”

    “What is it, kid?” Len rolled his eyes, pretending not to hear the joke at the expense of his alter ego. “What’s wrong?”

    Cisco knew that his eyes were hidden behind his goggles, but he still avoided looking into the other man's eyes. He felt guilty about what he was doing, but there was no other way around it. “Can you, can you take care of Hartley once I’m gone? Please, I don’t want him to be alone.”

    Len nodded once, but his eyes looked sad. Almost as if he knew why Cisco was asking him to do this. “...sure thing.” He left the words, _‘if you leave it’ll break Hartley’s heart,’_ unsaid, but he knew that he had made his point. “Try and stay safe out there, kid.”

    “Thanks, but I can't promise that.” And with that Cisco stepped across the room and out the door, already running down the stairs into the street.

 

***

 

    “So a damn grey alien stole my left kidney back in ‘nam, and then I had to sell one of my lungs to pay for dialysis!” Saints & Sinners really had some weirdoes, but at least the alien conspiracy guy wasn’t a weird as the guy screaming out on the street corner about fluoride in the water and Zionist conspiracies. That guy outside was just completely racist. This guy on the other hand... Cisco threw back the last of his beer as the so-called alien abductee continued his rambling. “But the damned _government_ don’t believe in aliens, and my insurance wouldn't cover jack shit!”

    “Oh, really now?” Cisco tried his hardest not to show his disbelief, instead simply turning back to the bartender. “Can I get one for the road, Skeeter?” Cisco had already had a few beers, but he was trying to enjoy the atmosphere of the bar before he needed to leave for good. “Need to get my ass out of here before this media shit hits critical mass.”

    The bartender slid a cold bottle of nameless beer across the counter, “sure thing kid, but it looks like you’re ‘bout to have some company.”

    Cisco popped the cap off the bottle before the turning around to face Hartley for what he was sure would be the last time. “Aw hell.”

    “Cisco!” Hartley “What the hell are you doing here?”

    “Hartley…” Cisco threw a few twenties onto the grungy bar and turned back to Hartley. “Let’s take this outside.”

    The moment they stepped outside Hartley asked, “are you drunk?”

    “A little, but that’s not what you’re here to ask, so just ask already.” Cisco tried to keep his voice from shaking, a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. “What do you want?”

    “Cisco, what the hell are you doing here? Why did you run?”

    “Why did I- I just _killed_ a woman on fucking _live_ television! If that isn’t a reason to run, then nothing else is!”

    “But people will understand what happened-

    “No, they won’t!” Cisco pulled shaking fingers through his hair, not caring that they left blood in their wake. “Even if they have the facts laid out they won’t know what that fight was about. They didn’t know what was at stake and they never will!”

    “Then tell _me_!”

    “I can’t tell you; I can’t tell you because if I do, you’ll try to keep me from protecting you!”

    “Cisco, what are you talking about?”

    “I need to leave. I just need to get out of town for a while.”

    “So when do we leave?”

    “You can’t come with me, Hartley.”

    “Alright, well, when will you be back?”

    “Never.”

    “Well, then- wait, _what_?”

    “I’m sorry Hartley, but I can’t ever see you again.” Cisco felt like he'd been shot the moment he said those words, but he knew it was for the best. "We can't stay together Hartley. We just can't."

    “What are you saying?" Hartley shook his head, not wanting to believe what he was being told. "What are you trying to tell me?”

    “I don’t want to go, but I feel like I should. I want to stay, _God_ , do I want to stay... But that ain’t gonna happen. You make me better; you make me keep going, even when I want to do nothing but give up and bite the bullet. When it’s a dead end in every direction, I can always find my way because of you.” Cisco shook his head sadly, trying to keep his emotions in control. “But when I'm around you're not safe, and I can’t take that risk. I need to leave. I need to leave so you’ll be safe.” He turned away, not wanting Hartley to see the tears filling his eyes.

    “I can take care of myself, Cisco. I’m not afraid of what’s out there.”

    “You should be.”

    “Cisco… why are you really leaving?”

    “Because I’m not good enough!” Cisco turned back, facing Hartley with a pained expression. “Everyday I wake the horror show begins! I’m a walking disaster, a mistake waiting to happen! I’m not safe, and there’s no way that I’m sane! Wherever I go, I’m going to find the most dangerous place to be, then dive in head first!” Cisco turned away, trying to keep his voice from shaking as his words tumbled out. “God above, I love you, but I can’t protect you from myself! You deserve someone who’ll make you happy. Someone who’ll treat you the way you deserve. You deserve someone as perfect as you are.”

    “I’m not perfect, Cisco. And I wouldn’t love you if you were perfect.”

    “Dammit Hartley, why do you have to make leaving so _hard_?!”

    “I’m not letting you leave; I’m not going to let you go!”

    “But I know this is the safest way, I know that I’ll be nothing without you by my side, I know that I can’t live without you, but I _can’t_ _imagine_ living with you dead!”

    Hartley fell silent, unable to find a response to that. Instead of speaking he reached for Cisco’s shoulder, ignoring the way the other man flinched.

    “God, I’m all kinds of fucked up… Hartley, you’ll be alright without me.”

    “No, I won’t! Don’t you know that I fucking _love_ you!?”

    Cisco turned his gaze to the ground, trying not to see the pain in the other man's eyes. “... _please_ don’t say that. I can’t… I can’t be what you need.”

    “All that I need is for you to stay with me. All I need is you by my side.”

    “Hartley…” Hot tears rolled down Cisco’s cheeks, and he let them fall without bothering to sweep them away. He gently cupped the side of Hartley’s face with one hand and with his free hand he pulled the other man close to him. “I… _God_ _above_ , Hartley, I love you.”

    Hartley felt tears run down his cheeks and whispered his next words, “if you love me then don’t _leave_!”

    "I can't promise that for you, Hartley."

    "Then just stay a little while, stay with me."

    Cisco felt the walls around his heart crumble, emotional floodwaters pouring out with his words. “I- I won’t leave, I promise I won’t leave. I never meant to fall for you, but I can’t make myself break your heart.” Cisco held onto Hartley as if he were afraid that the other man would disappear. “I’d set the entire world on fire if you asked me to. Hell, I’d do just about anything if it would make you happy!”

    “Cisco,” Hartley sounded reverent, his voice soft as if afraid he might break the moment by being too loud. “That’s...that’s the most romantic gesture in the history of romance and gestures.”

    “Haha, you’re a funny man.” Cisco smiled, “I want to be with you in every sense of the word. I want to do stupid romantic things, I want to spend time together, I want to have stupid arguments about paint colors! I want to make everyone around us hate our PDA! I want to be with you until you’re sick of seeing me! I want to learn what foods you hate, and I want to wake up with you next to me-” His voice broke on the last word, filling the moment with emotion. “I want to grow old with you, want to be yours, forever…”

    “We can do those things Cisco, we can be together, just stay with me. _Please_ stay.” Hartley clung tightly to Cisco, trying to hold onto both the moment and the man, afraid that if he let go they would both disappear into the night air. "Stay..."

    “Can we go home, Hartley?” Cisco felt the tears rolling down his face, but they weren’t from sadness. They were tears of joy. “I just, I want to go home.”

    Hartley nodded, “yeah, Cisco. Let’s go home.


End file.
